THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 


By    ARNOLD     BENNETT 

NOVELS 

THE  ROLL-CALL 

THE  PRETTY  LADY 

THE  lion's  share 

THESE  TWAIN 

CLAYHANGER 

HILDA  LESSWAVS 

THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

DENRY  THE  AUDACIOUS 

THE  OLD  ADAM 

HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

THE  MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  BOOK  OF  CARLOTTA 

BURIED  ALIVE 

A  GREAT  MAN 

LEONORA 

WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

A  MAN  FROM  THE  NORTH 

ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  GLIMPSE 

THE  CITY  OF  PLEASURE 

THE  GRAND  BABYLON  HOTEL 

HUGO 

THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

POCKET  PHILOSOPHIES 

SELF  AND  SELF-MANAGEMENT 
THE  author's  CRAFT 
MARRIED  LIFE 
FRIENDSHIP  AND  HAPPINESS 
HOW  TO  LIVE  ON  24  HOURS  A  DAV 
THE  HUMAN  MACHINE 
LITERARY  TASTE 
MENTAL  EFFICIENCY 

PLAYS 

SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 
JUDITH 
THE  TITLE 

THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE 
CUPID  AND  COMMONSENSE 
WHAT  THE  PUBLIC  WANTS 
POLITE  FARCES 
THE  HONEVTVIOON 
IN    COLLABORATION    WITH    EDWARD    KNOBLAUCH 
MILESTONES 

MISCELLANEOUS 

PARIS  NIGHTS 

THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  AN  AUTHOR 

LIBERTYI 

OVER  THERE:  WAR  SCENES 

GEORGE  H.  DOIL'VN  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


SACRED     AND 
PROFANE    LOVE 

A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


FOUNDED  ON  THE  NOVEL  OF 
JHE  SAME  NAME 


BY 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 

Author  of  "Judith,"  "Clayhanger," 

"The  RoU  CaU,"  "The  Old  Wives' 

Tale,"  "The  Title."  etc. 


GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1920, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


PRINTED   IN   THE   UNITED    STATES    OF   AMERICA 


Theater  Arts 
Library 


CHARACTERS 

Chaelotta  Peel 

Emilio  Diaz 

Feank  Ispenlove 

Maey  Ispenlove,  his  wife 

Emmeline  Palmee,  Charlotta's  secretary 

Snape,  Diaz's  secretary 

Mes.  Joicey 

Louisa  Bexbow,  her  sister 

LoED^  Feancis  Alcae 

Mes.  Saedis 

JocELYN  Saedis,  her  daughter 

Rosalie 

Leonie 

A  Paelouemaid 


SACRED  AND   PROFANE 
LOVE 

ACT  I 

SCENE  I 

Mrs,  Joicey*s  sitting-room  on  the  first  floor 
of  her  house  in  the  Five  Towns.  Door 
L.  [as  one  faces  the  footlights'\,  and  double 
doors  hack  centre.  The  latter  open  into  a 
bedroom.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  furni- 
ture, all  dating  from  the  seventies:  many 
and  various  chairs,  sundry  tables,  a  sofa,  a 
canterbury,  rugs,  antimacassars,  mats,  wax 
flowers  under  glass  domes,  a  gas  chandelier, 
and  a  grand  piano  in  walnut  [^with  the  key- 
board towards  the  back  waW].  Over  the 
mantelpiece  an  extensive  enlarged  photo- 
graph of  a  middle-aged  man,  in  a  rosewood 
frame.  The  window  is  not  shown.  Although 
most  of  the  furniture  is  ugly,  the  general 
aspect  of  the  crowded  room  is  picturesque 
rather  than  ugly.  It  is  bright-coloured,  and 
has  the  distinction  of  a  bygone  style. 

Time. — Eleven  o'clock  at  night.  The  chandelier 
is  lighted. 

7 


8    SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Mrs.  Joicey  and  Louisa  are  talking  together.  A 
faint  knocking  is  heard  from  the  front  door 
on  the  ground  floor. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  Bless  us!  Here  they  come! 
Now  don't  spill  the  lemonade.  And  do  run  down 
and  open  the  door. 

Louisa.    Oh!    [Begins  to  remove  her  apronJ] 

Mrs.  Joicey.  What  are  you  taking  that  apron 
off  for,  Louisa? 

Louisa,  All  the  work's  done.  Why  should  I 
pretend  to  be  a  servant  when  I'm  your  sister? 

Mrs,  Joicey.  Louisa,  have  I  got  to  begin  that 
all  over  again?  A  nice  thing!  As  like  as  not 
Mr.  Diaz  would  tell  all  his  London  friends  that 
I  can't  afford  a  servant!  I  should  never  get 
another  travelling  concert  party.  It's  cruel  how 
things  like  that'll  spread.  It's  just  as  much  for 
your  sake  as  mine.  Don't  I  keep  you?  If  I 
didn't  I  should  be  a  lot  better  off  than  I  am. 
Isn't  as  if  I  asked  you  to  wear  a  cap  as  well. 
I  don't. 

Louisa.  D'you  know  what  he  did  as  they  went 
off  to  the  concert? 

Mrs.  Joicey  [^anxious  about  the  door'\.  Who 
did?     Mr.  Diaz? 

Louisa.     No,  the  secretary. 

Mrs.  Joicey.    What  did  he  do? 

Louisa.  In  the  passage  he  said — when  he  was 
telling  me  about  the  fowl  for  supper — "There's 


ACT  I  9 

a  good  girl,"  he  said,  and  he  patted  me  on  the 
cheek.  I  never  told  you,  but  he  patted  my  cheek, 
and  so  now  you  know. 

Mrs.  Joicey.     Mr.  Snape  did.'' 

Louisa.     Yes,  Mr.  Snape  did. 

Mrs.  Joicey.     And  what  did  you  do? 

Louisa.  Well,  I  acted  the  parlourmaid.  I 
always  did  want  to  go  on  the  stage. 

Mrs.  Joicey.     But  what  did  you  do? 

Louisa.  Don't  I  tell  you  I  acted  the  regular 
parlourmaid?  And  thankful  you  ought  to  be. 
I  just  smiled. 

Mrs.  Joicey.     Well  I  never! 

Louisa  [in  another  tone'\.  Somehow  I  couldn't 
help  it.  {In  her  former  tone.'\  But  when  he'd 
gone  I\iidn't  like  the  look  of  it  so  much.  I  said 
to  myself.  If  he  does  it  again,  he's  going  to  do 
it  to  Miss  Benbow,  not  to  any  parlourmaid,  and 
then  we  shall  know  where  we  are,  I  said. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  Louisa — [another  lcnoch'\.  Now 
put  that  apron  on  this  minute  and  go  and  an- 
swer the  door.  [With  curt  persuasiveness.'] 
Come! 

Louisa  [hesitating].  If  I  do,  it's  got  to  be 
understood  that  I'm  going  to  answer  the  bell, 
if  they  ring  up  here,  by  myself,  without  you 
poking  your  nose  in  and  asking,  "Is  the  'maid' 
looking  after  you  properly,  gentlemen?"  like  you 
did  at  teatime.  And  /'m  going  to  turn  the  beds 
down,  too. 


10   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Mrs.  Joicey.     Oh,  well — if  it's  like  that 

Louisa.     Well  it  is,  sister. 

Mrs.  Joicey.     Very  good! 

\^Exit  Louisa,  l,  putting  on  the  apron.'\ 

[^Mrs.  Joicey  examines  the  table,  and  then  the 

room.    Perceiving  that  the  portrait  over  the 

mantelpiece  is  crooked,  she  sets  a  chair,  steps 

on  it,   and  straightens   the  portrait.^ 

Enter  Mr.  Snape. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Snape.  I 
hope  the  weather  didn't  interfere  with  the  concert. 

Snape.     We  played  to  capacity,  Mrs.  Joicey. 

Mrs.  Joicey.     "Capacity?"    What's  that.? 

Snape.  Never  heard  of  it  in  this  district  be- 
fore, I  suppose.  Capacity,  madam,  is — er — 
sardines. 

Mrs.  Joicey.     Oh!     I  see! 

Snape.  I  doubt  if  we  ever  played  better,  ex- 
cept perhaps  once  in  St.  Petersburg.  Four  en- 
cores given.  Three  refused.  Personally  I  should 
have  given  three  and  refused  four.  But  then 
Five  Towns  audiences  are  very  warm,  very  warm. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  Oh,  we  are!  But  we're  very 
critical  too.     So  they  say. 

Snape.  Do  they.?  Supper  all  ready.'*  Where's 
the  cold  fowl.?     [^Loohs  at  table.'\ 

Mrs.  Joicey.  The  maid  will  bring  it.  Did  Mr. 
Diaz  come  in  with  you.? 

Snape  [^with  low,  precise,  slow  enunciation^, 
Dee-az. 


ACT  I  11 

Mrs.  Joicey.     We  call  it  Dyaz  down  here. 

Snape.  You  would.  You  shouldn't.  Now  I 
want  some  cakes. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  I  can't  get  cakes  now.  All  the 
shops  are  shut. 

Snape.  I  must  have  cakes — [lusciouslyl  sweet 
spongy  ones,  with  jam  in  them. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  But  j^ou  distinctly  told  me  that 
you  and  Mr.  Diaz  never  took  anything  but  cold 
fowl  and  some  milk  and  a  siphon  of  soda-water. 
[^Enter  Louisa.^     Here  is  the  fowl. 

Snape  \_to  Louisa'].  What's  your  name?  I 
don't  think  I  caught  it. 

Louisa  \_acting  the  parlourmaid],  Louisa — 
sir. 

Snape.  Well,  Louisa,  I  want  some  cakes  for 
supper.  Your  mistress  says  she  can't  get  any  at 
this  time  of  night.     Can't  you? 

Louisa  [^reflecting,  as  she  deposits  the  fowl]. 
There's  the  cold  jam  roly-poly.  I  might  cut  it 
into  thin  slices  and  sift  some  sugar  on  them. 

Snape.  Louisa,  please  go  and  sift  some  sugar 
on  them.  \_Ewit  Louisa.] 

Mrs.  Joicey.  I'd  thought  of  the  jam  roly-poly 
myself,  but  I  doubt  you'll  hardly  care  for  it. 

Snape.     Never  mind. 

Mrs.  Joicey.     But  I  do  mind. 

Snape.  I  shouldn't.  I  shan't  be  here  for  sup- 
per myself. 


12       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Mrs.  Joicey.  Then  you'll  only  want  supper 
for  one. 

Snape.     Mr.  Diaz  has  a  friend  coming. 

3Irs.  Joicey  [^assuming  that  what  she  says  is 
so'].     Another  gentleman. 

Snape.  Well — perhaps  not  exactly.  A  lady. 
They  will  be  here  in  a  moment. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  Oh  dear!  Mr.  Snape!  I  know 
the  musical  profession  isn't  what  it  was  in  my 
young  married  days.  I  never  expected  in  those 
days  to  let  rooms ;  but  I've  kept  this  house  re- 
spectable and  I  mean  to.  You  see  that  portrait 
there.  That's  the  portrait  of  my  husband.  He 
invented  the  hire-purchase  system  for  pianos  and 
American  organs.  At  least  in  this  district.  He 
was  the  best  man  that  ever  lived.  I'm  very  sorry, 
but  I  can't  have  any  carryings-on  in  this  room 
for  that  portrait  to  see. 

Snape  \^after  a  pause].  Take  the  portrait 
down. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  I  shall  take  down  no  portrait — 
and  I  don't  care  who  Mr.  Diaz  is,  if  you  under- 
stand what  I  mean. 

Snape.    Quite — quite.    But  the  lady  is  a  pupil. 

Mrs.  Joicey  [brightening].  Oh!  If  it's  a 
pupil — !  I  was  quite  used  to  pupils  in  my  mar- 
ried days.  My  husband  was  always  considered 
the  best  teacher  of  the  pianoforte,  American  or- 
gan, and  clarionet  In  this  district.  The  Stafford- 
shire Advertiser  called  him  facile  princeps.     He 


ACT  I  13 

once  played  a  duet  with  Rubinstein  on  that  very 
piano.  That  was  the  day  Rubinstein  gave  a  con- 
cert at  Hanbridge.  Very  hearty,  Rubinstein  was. 
Came  upstairs  and  all.  When  they'd  done  play- 
ing he  kissed  my  husband.  Mr.  Joicey  didn't 
quite  like  that,  but  being  in  the  profession,  3'ou 
see,  he  couldn't  very  well  say  anything.  Rubin- 
stein didn't  stay  here,  but  of  course  I  wasn't 
letting  rooms  in  those  days.  Never  dreamt  of 
such  a  thing.  Only  now  it's  thanks  to  my  musical 
connections,  and  that  grand  piano,  that  musicians 

on  tour  generally  prefer  this  house 

Enter  Louisa  rather  quickly. 

Louisa.  I  heard  the  front  gate  creak  as  I  came 
upstairs. 

Snape  {who  has  been  calmly  gazing  at  Mrs. 
Joicey,  now  gazing  at  the  sliced  dumplingl.  So 
that  is  the  sliced  roly-poly!  {Takes  the  plate 
from  Louisa.'] 

Mrs.  Joicey  {to  Louisa'].  Better  get  on  with 
your  duties,  Louisa. 

Louisa.     Will  it  do,  sir.'' 

Snape.     It  will. 
{Exit  Louisa  by  double  doors   at  back,   which 
reveal  bedroom.] 

Mrs.  Joicey  {half  reflectively].  And  what  does 
he  teach  at  this  time  o'  night,  I  wonder.'' 

Snape  {putting  down  plate].  Mrs.  Joicey, 
what  a  question !  Mr.  Diaz  is  usually  considered 
to  be  the  greatest  pianist  after  Rubinstein.     Cer- 


14   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

tainly  the  greatest  interpreter  of   Chopin   since 
Chopin  died. 

Mrs.  Joicey  [^smooth] y'\.  Oh,  I  know!  I  know 
some  of  them  have  pupils  tliat  follow  'em  about 
from  place  to  place.  [^Knoch  heard  helow.'\  I'd 
better  answer  the  door. 

Louisa  [who  has  reappeared  at  double-doors']. 
I'll  run  down. 

Snape  [with  a  preventing  gesture].  I  will  go. 
[Indicating  the  double  doors,  to  both  women,  con- 
spirator ially.]  This  way  please — and  out  by  the 
passage — at  once.  [Exit  l.] 

Louisa.     What's  afoot.'' 

Mrs.  Joicey.     Nothing,  miss. 

Louisa.    Then  my  name's  not  Louisa. 

Mrs.  Joicey.  There's  a  lady  coming,  seem- 
ingly.    It's  a  pupil. 

Louisa  [glancing  at  the  dumpling  plate]. 
Sweet-tooth ! 

Snape  [heard  off].    Everything  is  in  order,  sir. 

Louisa  [in  a  whisper].  He  told  us  to  go  at 
once. 

Mrs.  Joicey  [somewhat  rebellious].  And  what 
if  he  did! 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Joicey  and  Louisa  bach.  The 
double  doors  are  closed  reluctantly.  Snape 
ushers  Diaz  and  Carlotta  into  the  room,  L, 
and  exit.] 

Diaz.  Now  which  chair  will  you  have  ^  [  Waving 
a  hand  comically  to  indicate  the  various  chairs.] 


ACT  I  15 

You  see  them!  They  are  all  equally — hostile  to 
the  human  form. 

Carlotta  [^still  near  the  door,  smiling  timidlyl. 
Is  he  gone — Mr. — you  introduced  us,  but  I  forget 
his  name — your  secretary.'' 

Diaz.  Snape?  He  probable  considers  that  his 
day's  work  is  over.  He's  just — gone,  that's  all. 
I  never  inquire,  you  know. 

Carlotta.     I  think  I'd  better  go  too, 

Diaz.  But — I  thought  you — we — I  thought  it 
was  understood  that  you  waited  here  till  it  was 
time  to  go  across  to  the  station  for  the  mail- 
train. 

Carlotta.  Everything's  different  now  I'm  ac- 
tually here.  It  was  all  right  when  we  were  driving 
down  frbm  Hanbridge  with  Mr.  Snape  in  the  car. 
I  suppose  it  was  the  rain  made  it  seem  so  matter- 
of-fact.  I  was  frightened  when  we  found  the 
train  had  gone,  but  when  I  thought  of  the  mail- 
train  and  you  went  with  me  to  the  stationmaster 
to  see  if  I  could  travel  by  it,  I  felt  all  right 
again.  It  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  that  I  should  come  and  wait  here  for  an 
hour  with  you  and  Mr.  Snape,  instead  of  waiting 
all  alone  at  the  station.    You  were  so  natural. 

Diaz.     And  am  I  not  natural  now? 

Carlotta.  Oh,  yes!  But — of  course  I  quite 
understand  about  i\Ir.  Snape — but — somehow — 
Besides,  you  must  be  too  frightfully  tired  to  play 
any  more  to-night. 


16   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Diaz  [gently].  Now,  is  that  quite — quite  sin- 
cere— that  last? 

Carlotta.  No,  it  isn't.  I  don't  really  believe 
you're  ever  tired.  But — it's  like  this.  You  may 
feel  natural.  But  I  don't  feel  natural — not  any 
more.  I  think  I'd  better  go,  truly.  I  don't  want 
you  to  come  with  me.  I  can  run  back  to  the  sta- 
tion in  a  jiffy — it  has  nearly  stopped  raining. 

Diaz.  I'm  very  sorry,  very  sorry.  Before 
you  go,  won't  j^ou  tell  me  your  name? 

Carlotta  [after  a  pause,  low].     Magdalen. 

Diaz  [incredulous,  quickly],     [t  isn't. 

Carlotta  [on  her  dignity].    T' 'reuse  me 

Diaz.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Do  forgive  me, 
please.  There's  only  one  thin.^  I'd  like  to  say. 
I  hope  you  don't  think  for  one  moment  that  I've 
been  trying  to — inveigle  you  here. 

Carlotta  [smiles  calmly].  Mr.  Diaz,  I  knew 
exactly  what  I  was  doing — and  when  I  did  it. 

Diaz.     "When  you  did  it?" 

Carlotta.  You  see,  I  sat  such  a  long  time  in 
the  hall,  while  the  people  were  going  out.  I 
don't  know  how  it  was — the  music  I  suppose — 
your  music — I  couldn't  move. 

Diaz,     I  was  watching  you. 

Carlotta.     Watching  me? 

Diaz.  Yes,  from  behind.  I  was  just  on  the 
point  of  coming  round,  or  sending  Mr.  Snape, 
when  you  got  up  and  left.  You  were  the  last 
to  go.     I  followed  you. 


ACT  I  17 

Carlotta.     But  why? 

Diaz.  I  thought  I  might  just  possibly  have 
a  chance  of  thanking  you — for  the  way  you'd 
listened  to  me. 

Carlotta  [^dreamily^.  How  strange!  \_Sud- 
denly.'\  Why  did  you  have  tlie  piano  moved 
half-way  across  the  platform  at  the  interval? 

Diaz.  So  that  I  could  see  you  better  while  I 
was  playing. 

Carlotta.    It's  unbelievable. 

Diaz.  On  the  contrary!  If  you  knew  what  a 
really  sympathetic  listener  means  to  an  artist! 
Just  one — in  a  whole  audience !  The  artist  plays 
to  that  one.  ...  So  when  I  caught  sight  of  you 
almost  alone  in  the  portico,  I  collected  all  my 
courage  and  came  straight  up  to  you  and  did 
thank  you.     That  was  how  it  all  came  about. 

Carlotta.  No,  Mr.  Diaz,  it  didn't  begin  to 
come  about  until  I  said  to  you,  "If  you  want  to 
thank  me  you  can  thank  me  by  getting  me  a  cab." 
As  soon  as  I'd  said  that  I  knew  exactly  what 
I'd  done.  I  can't  imagine  what  ever  made  me 
say  such  a  thing.  I  know  I  do  talk  like  that 
sometimes,  but  to  you! 

Diaz.  Not  a  bit.  It  was  the  most  natural  an- 
swer in  the  world.  In  fact  I  deserved  it.  And 
as  I  had  a  car  waiting  for  me  and  we  were  going 
in  the  same  direction —  I  shan't  say  I'm  sorry 
we  missed  the  train,  because  I'm  not. 

Carlotta.    Well,  thank  you  very  much  for  being 


18   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

so  kind  [liolding  out  her  hand,  which  he  tdkes^. 

Diaz.  I  should  like  to  have  played  to  you — 
here,  just  you  and  I  together. 

Carlotta  [withdrawing  from  him  and  throwing 
hack  her  wrap^.     I'm  insulting  you! 

Diaz  [puzzled'^.    And  how? 

Carlotta.  By  saying  that  I  won't  stay  till 
it's  time  to  go  to  the  station.  Yes,  I'm  insulting 
you!  Nobody  could  play  like  you  play  if  he 
wasn't  as  straight  as  a  die. 

{In  silence  he  takes  her  wrap,  and  she  sits  down 
with  an  abrupt  girlish  gesture.^ 

Diaz  [quietly^.  That's  not  quite  true  to  life, 
you  know. 

Carlotta.     What  isn't.? 

Diaz.  That  serious  artists  are — well — always 
straight. 

Carlotta.     Isn't  it? 

Diaz.  No.  You're  very  young  and  inex- 
perienced. 

Carlotta.  Indeed  I'm  not  inexperienced.  I've 
had  my  eyes  wide  open  for  ages. 

Diaz  [sitting  down;  in  an  easy,  brotherly  tone'\. 
Well,  tell  me  something  about  those  ages. 

Carlotta.     No,  no !     You  must  talk. 

Diaz.     I  thought  I  was  to  play. 

Carlotta.     Now [Stops.'\ 

Diaz.    Yes  ? 

Carlotta  [leaning  forward'\.  Do  you  undev" 
stand  people? 


ACT  I  19 

Diaz.    I  think  so. 

Carlotta.  You  know  what  I  mean — under- 
stand? 

Diaz.    Yes. 

Carlotta.  Well  then,  I  needn't  tell  you  I'm 
fearfully  nervous.  You  wouldn't  expect  anything 
else,  would  j'ou,  me  being  here  like  this,  so  sud- 
denly, and  talking  face  to  face  with  you?  Per- 
haps I  don't  look  it,  but  I  hardly  know  what  I'm 
sajung.  So  you  will  understand,  won't  you? 
l^Diaz  nods.']    [^Insisting.]     Whatever  I  say? 

Diaz.     Why  do  you  insist?     We're  friends. 

Carlotta  [^smiling'].  I  only  insist  because 
women  are  so  much  cruder  than  men,  and  I  might 
say  something 

Diaz  [interrupt in g].  Are  they  so  much  cruder 
than  men?     "Wlio  told  you  that? 

Carlotta.  Oh,  I've  noticed  it.  I  mean  in  what 
they  say.  They  aren't  always  honest,  and  yet 
the}^  are  honest — terribly.  Men  hate  to  admit 
things,  but  women  like  to.  I  know  I  do,  even 
if  it  hurts  me.  And  my  aunt  often  tells  me  I'm 
crude. 

Diaz.     But  your  aunt  is  a  woman  too. 

Carlotta.  No,  she's  an  old  spinster.  There 
I  go,  you  see! 

Diaz.  Well  now,  after  this  exciting  introduc- 
tion, what  is  it  you're  afraid  I  mightn't  under- 
stand ? 

Carlotta.     Oh,  but  you  will!     It's  only  this. 


20   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Tliis  evening's  a  miracle  for  me.  I  do  so  want 
to  live  it.  I  always  feel  people  don't  give  them- 
selves up  to  the  present  enough.  I  know  I'm 
always  thinking  about  the  next  thing.  Now,  for 
instance,  to-night — the  train.  There's  over  an 
hour  to  the  train.  I  want  to  forget  it  till  it's 
time  for  me  to  leave.  I  want  to  drench  myself 
in  my  miracle.  Let  me.  When  I  ask  you  to 
talk,  don't  remind  me  that  I  asked  you  to  play. 
You  can  do  both.  But  talk  first.  You  don't 
know  what  it  means  to  me.  You  say  you  under- 
stand. Do  understand.  You  can't,  but  you 
must.  I  want  to  know  you.  I  want  to  see  inside 
you.     I  always  have  wanted. 

Diaz.  But  I  thought  you  said  on  the  way 
here  you'd  never  heard  me  before. 

Carlotta.  I  hadn't.  But —  [Stops.  Then 
more  quietly.']     Tell  me  what  your  life  is. 

Diaz.  ]My  life!  My  life  is  on  the  road — with 
Snape  and  a  piano — sometimes  a  couple  of  pianos. 
I  have  three  subjects  of  study,  and  I  don't  think 
I'm  conceited  in  saying  I  know  as  much  about 
those  three  vast  and  inexhaustible  subjects  as 
anybody  on  this  earth. 

Carlotta.    Yes.     What  are  they.'* 

Diaz.    Concert-halls,  railway-trains,  and  hotels. 

Carlotta.     Oh  I 

Diaz.  Yes.  I  am  always,  always  in  one  or  an- 
other of  them.     And  that  is  my  life. 

Carlotta.     But  this  isn't  a  hotel.'' 


ACT  I  21 

Diaz.  No.  Now  and  then  I  get  into  such  a 
state  that  I  feel  as  if  one  more  hotel,  only  one 
more,  would  drive  me  mad.  Snape  heard  of  this 
house,  and  it  makes  quite  a  piquant  change.  It's 
like  a  picnic  into  another  century.  Moreover, 
that  piano  is  almost  good.  But  to-morrow  night 
will  see  me  in  a  hotel  again.  Yes,  to-morrow 
morning  I  shall  lie  in  the  bed  there  as  long  as  I 
can,  because  I  hate  getting  up,  and  then  Snape 
will  make  me  get  up,  and  my  belongings  wiU  be 
put  into  my  two  trunks,  and  before  I  leave  the 
bedroom  I  shall  look  round  and  I  shall  say :  "Sure 
you've  put  everything  in,  Snape.''"  and  there  will 
be  nothing  left  in  the  bedroom  that  is  mine,  and 
I  shaU  turn  away,  and  do  you  know  what  I  shall 
be  thinking.?  I  shall  be  thinking:  "Well,  I  shall 
never  sleep  in  that  bed  any  more."  And  when 
I  get  to  the  station  people  will  nudge  each  other 
and  point  out  to  each  other  that  the  great  and 
glorious  being,  Diaz,  is  on  the  platform.  And 
that's  my  life. 

Carlotta.  But  you  do  travel.  Surely  it  must 
be  wonderful  to  see  fresh  countries.  I've  never 
been  out  of  England. 

\Diaz.  I  never  see  fresh  countries.  I've  seen 
them  all,  and  I've  seen  them  all  several  times — 
North  America,  South  America,  France,  Germany, 
Austria,  Italy,  Russia,  Spain.  Snape  and  I  are 
first-class  authorities  on  the  concert-halls,  rail- 
way-trains and  hotels  of  all  of  them. 


22       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta  [^talcing  it  in,  thoughtfully.  Yes.  .  .  . 
But  what  about  forci^  languages?  You  do 
hear  and  speak  foreign  languages.  Don't  you 
like  doing  that?  I  should.  I  should  like  it  more 
than  anything — well,  almost  anything.  All  for- 
eign languages  are  so  romantic.  And  when  you 
speak  them  you  feel  proud,  don't  you?  I  can't 
even  speak  French;  I  can  only  read  it.  Now 
you  speak  English  simply  marvellously.  That's 
just  what  surprised  me.  Nobody  could  tell  you 
aren't  English. 

Diaz.  Well,  I  am — nearly.  English  is  really 
my  only  language.  My  mother  was  English,  and 
my  father  was  half  English  and  half  Spanish.  He 
taught  dancing  in  Dublin.  Of  course  I  never  let 
on  that  I'm  three-quarters  English.  If  I  did  no- 
body would  believe  that  I  can  play  the  piano. 

Carlotta.  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  talk  like 
that.     Now,  tell  me  about  your  parents. 

Diaz.  I'm  an  orphan.  I  mean — my  father  and 
mother  are  both  dead.  I  hate  the  word  orphan. 
There's  something  so  sentimental  about  it. 

Carlotta.  That's  how  I  like  to  hear  you  talk! 
That's  exactly  how  I  feel,  but  it  never  occurred 
to  me  anybody  else  felt  the  same.  My  father  and 
mother  are  both  dead. 

Diaz.    Are  they? 

Carlotta.  Yes — long  ago.  Before  I  can  re- 
member. .  .  .  And  when  auntie  happens  to  men- 
tion that  I'm  an  orphan,  I  squirm  .  .  .  \_Softly.'\ 


ACT  I  23 

I  won't  ask  you  about  your  parents.  Tell  me 
about  your  friends. 

Diaz.  Friends.  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  I  have 
one  or  two  somewhere  about  the  world.  But  you 
see  they're  like  me — always  imprisoned  in  concert- 
halls,  railway-trains  and  hotels.  We  may  meet 
now  and  then  in  a  big  city — never  in  a  small  one. 
We  say.  How  d'ye  do,  how  d'ye  do,  and  pass  on, 
because  you  know  we  haven't  much  spare  time. 
We  must  practise.  Play  scales.  Hours  and 
hours.  Every  day.  Wherever  we  are.  We 
daren't  leave  off.     And  that  is  my  life. 

Carlotta.  But  you  have  a  home.  I  remember 
quite  well  reading  about  your  palace  in  Fontaine- 
bleau.    In  fact  I  cut  it  out  of  the  paper. 

Diaz.  Not  a  palace.  There  is  only  one  palace 
at  Fontainebleau,  and  that's  the  palace  where  Na- 
poleon signed  his  abdication.  Still,  my  place  there 
is  an  agreeable  and  spacious  abode,  so  far  as  I 
remember.  I  was  in  it  seven  months  ago,  for 
one  night.  I  believe  it  is  a  paradise  for  the 
servants. 

Carlotta.    And  serv^ants  are  so  wasteful! 

Diaz.  They  are.  But  mine  have  every  excuse. 
They  can  always  read  about  my  income  in  the 
papers,  and  they  consider  that  some  sustained 
effort  ought  to  be  made  to  spend  it. 

Carlotta.  I  should  have  thought  you  would 
have  spent  the  summer  in  a  place  like  Fontaine- 
bleau.    I  looked  it  up  in  the  encyclopsedia.     It 


24.   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

must  be  lovely.  You  don't  give  concerts  all  sum- 
mer, do  you? 

Diaz.  Oh,  no.  I  usually  begin  my  summer  in 
Fontainebleau,  but  after  about  a  week  or  so  I 
can't  stand  it  any  longer,  and  I  go  round  the 
watering-places — Deauville,  Ostend,  anywhere — 
and  do  a  little  gambling.  I  enjoy  gambling.  It's 
my  one  recreation.  .  .  .  Why!  Are  those  tears 
in  your  eyes.'' 

Carlotta  {^successfully  cheerful'\.  Yes — but 
they  won't  drop.  \_Grave  again.'\  It's  very  sad — 
I  can't  help  sa3'ing  it. 

Diaz.  But  I  assure  you  I  don't  lose  more  in 
a  whole  summer  than  I  can  earn  in  a  couple  of 
days. 

Carlotta.  Oh!  I  didn't  mean  the  gambling. 
I  think  I  should  adore  gambling.     I  meant 

Diaz.  Yes.  I  see  wliat  you  meant,  but  you 
asked  me  to  tell  you.  Well,  I've  tried  to  alter 
it — and  failed.  Before  my  illness  I  had  some 
plans  for  ameliorating  the  unhappy  lot  of  a  world- 
renowned  pianist,  but  they  didn't  survive. 

Carlotta.  Your  illness  was  very  serious,  wasn't 
it?     It  was  in  all  the  papers. 

Diaz.    They  told  me  it  was  pretty  bad. 

Carlotta.     Who  nursed  you? 

Diaz.     Nurses. 

Carlotta.    And  is  it  quite,  quite  gone,  now? 

Diaz.  Oh,  yes.  Quite.  Except  this  {^picking 
up  a  little  case  from  a  table^. 


ACT  I  25 

Carlotta.     What  is  that? 

Diaz.    Morphine. 

Carlotta.     Do  you  take  it? 

Diaz.  Sometimes.  Inject  it — subcutaneously. 
Done  in  a  second.     Doctor's  advice — suggestion. 

Carlotta.    But  it's  a  drug,  isn't  it? 

Diaz.     That's  exactly  what  it  is. 

Carlotta.  When  you've  taken  it  you  feel  you 
are  under  it — under  its  influence.  Something  in 
you  that's  stronger  than  you. 

Diaz.    Yes. 

Carlotta  [commiseratingly,  tenderly,  not  re- 
provingly^.  How  dreadful!  \^With  more  vigour.'\ 
I  could  not  bear  that,  myself.  I  would  sooner  be 
iU.     No,  I  could  not  bear  it! 

Diaz  \_rather  apologetically'].  We  never  know 
what  we  mayn't  have  to  bear,  do  we?  [Lightly,] 
Now  I've  told  you  what  my  life  is.  Admit  you're 
disillusioned,  horribly  disillusioned. 

Carlotta  \_firinly  and  cheerfully].  I  prefer  to 
be  disillusioned. 

Diaz  [^after  looking  at  her].  You're  a  strange 
woman. 

Carlotta.  Why  am  I  strange?  Is  it  strange 
to  prefer  to  know  the  truth?  If  I  have  illusions 
I  want  to  lose  them — of  course !  The  truth  is 
always  more  romantic,  really.  All  that  you've 
told  me  is  wonderful.  Even  if  it's  unhappy,  it's 
wonderful.  It's  thrilling.  It's  more  miraculous 
even  than  I  thought  it  could  be.     And  I  can  see 


26   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

now  that  it  must  be  like  that.  But  you  haven't 
told  me  everything. 

Diaz.      Haven't    I  ? 

Carlotta.    No. 

Diaz.     \Vliat  haven't  I  told  you? 

Carlotta.  The  most  important  thing.  ...  I 
hated  to  see  all  those  silly  hysterical  women  crowd- 
ing round  the  piano  at  the  end  of  the  concert 
to-night.  YAppealingly.^  You  hated  it  too, 
didn't  you? 

Diaz.  I  was  in  terror  lest  you  should  step  up 
and  join  them.     If  you  had  done 

Carlotta  \_shaJiing  her  liead^.  You  might  have 
been  sure  I  never  should. 

Diaz.     How  could  I  be  sure?     I  didn't  know 

you. 

Carlotta.     Yes,  you  knew  me. 

Diaz.    Well,  perhaps  I  did. 

Carlotta.  Do  you  often  have  to  go  through 
that  kind  of — siege  ? 

Diaz.     Yes  [lightly'],  it's  part  of  the  routine. 

Carlotta.  But —  Now  you  said  you'd  under- 
stand. 

Diaz.  Listen,  young  lady,  do  j'ou  want  to  dis- 
cuss the  subject  of  love? 

Carlotta.  Why  not?  We're  perfect  stran- 
gers. 

Diaz.  Certainly  that  helps.  But  where  do 
you  stand  in  the  matter? 


ACT  I  27 

Carlotta.  I've  read  Shakespeare  and  Brown- 
ing. 

Diaz.     Oh!     That's  nothing. 

Carlotta.  You're  quite  right.  It  is  nothing. 
But  it's  all.  Till  to-night  I'd  never  once  talked 
alone  with  a  man,  except  at  lawn-tennis  or  a 
dance — you  know  the  sort  of  stuff.  I  thought 
you'd  tell  me  something.  [Paws^.]  Why  shouldn't 
I  know.?  The  time  will  come  when  I  shall  know 
— everything. 

Diaz  [gentlz/l.  Yes,  but  the  time  and  the  man 
who  tells  will  come  together. 

Carlotta  \^timid^.    Is  it  so? 

Diaz.    It  is  so. 

Carlotta.  Tell  me  just  one  thing.  Is  it  worth 
while,  love — honest  Indian.'' 

Diaz.     I  can't  tell  you. 

Carlotta.  Now  you're  not  understanding. 
You're  being  conventional — you  think  I'm  morbid. 

Diaz.    Honest  Indian,  I'm  not.    I  can't  tell  you. 

Carlotta.  But  isn't  there  a  woman  who's  made 
you  tremendously  happy  or  tremendously  un- 
^^PP}'-'' — i^  doesn't  matter  which. 

Diaz.     No,  there  isn't. 

Carlotta.  Tlion  it's  true  about  you  being 
nursed  by  nurses  when  you  were  ill.? 

Diaz.  Quite  true.  IPause-l  Another  illusion 
gone. 

Carlotta.     I  don't  like  it  to  go. 

Diaz.    Why? 


28       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 
Carlotta.    I've  always  thought  of  you  as- 


Diaz.  Well,  of  course  I'm  not  what  you'd  call 
an  absolute  stranger  to  the  sex. 

Carlotta.     Oh!     I'm  so  glad. 

Diaz.     Why? 

Carlotta.  I  doubt  if  a  woman  likes  a  man  not 
to  know  a  great  deal  of  women — unless  he's  very, 
very  young. 

Diaz.  I  don't  remember  that  in  either  Shake- 
speare or  Browning. 

Carlotta.    Perhaps  that's  my  o^ti. 

Diaz.  Tell  me — I'm  thirty-six.  How  old  are 
you.? 

Carlotta.     Twenty-one — nearly. 

Diaz.  And  now  tell  me  everything  else.  It's 
my  turn  to  hold  an  inquiry.    You  play  the  piano. 

Carlotta.  Yes,  but  don't  let  me  give  you  a 
wrong  idea.  {^Eagerly. '\  Shall  I  tell  you  how 
I  live? 

Diaz  \ltglitly'\.  After  what  has  passed  I  think 
that's  the  least  you  can  do. 

Carlotta.  I  live  with  auntie  in  a  Queen  Anne 
house,  and  there's  a  pretty  large  garden  all  round 
it.  And  all  round  the  garden  there  are  little 
streets  of  little  shops  and  workpeople's  cottages, 
rather  dirty.  From  my  bedroom  window  I  can 
see  into  the  valley,  and  I  can  see  all  the  other 
hills  scattered  about,  and  there  are  factory  chim- 
neys everywhere  in  the  valley  and  on  the  horizon, 
and  they  never  stop  smoking,  weekday  or  Sunday. 


ACT  I  29 

Of  course  we  ought  to  have  gone  to  live  right 
in  the  country  long  ago,  like  other  people,  but 
auntie  doesn't  care  to  move.  Auntie  is  a  witch. 
She  doesn't  look  like  one — she  looks  like  a  perfect 
churchwoman  and  member  of  the  Soldiers  and 
Sailors'  Families  Association,  which  she  is — but 
she's  a  witch.  She's  put  a  spell  on  the  house 
and  on  the  garden  as  well,  and  on  the  servants 
and  the  gardeners  and  the  coachman.  Our  house 
used  to  be  in  the  open  country — we've  got  en- 
gravings of  it  like  that.  It  still  is  in  the  open 
country,  so  far  as  auntie  is  concerned.  All  the 
trees  and  things  in  the  district  except  ours  are 
dirty  grey  with  smoke.  Our  trees  are  green. 
And  what's  stranger  still,  our  window-curtains  are 
white.  It's  auntie's  spell.  Our  garden  with  the 
house  in  the  middle  is  just  like  an  island  in  the 
sea.  The  sea  washes  round  the  walls,  and  the 
tide  gets  higher  and  higher,  but  it  never  washes 
in.     Do   you   see  what  I  mean? 

Diaz.     Yes. 

Carlotta.  Auntie  thinks  she's  put  her  spell  on 
me  too.  She  doesn't  really  think  she  has,  but 
she  pretends  to  herself  she  has.  And  so  I  live 
there,  and  I'm  very  happy.  I'm  sad,  but  it's  a 
happy  sort  of  sadness,  because  auntie's  frightfully 
fond  of  me,  without  understanding  me  a  bit,  and 
also  because  I'm  waiting  for  something  wonderful 
to  occur,  and  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  I  live  all 
by  myself  in  my  head — ^nobody  can  see  inside  it. 


30   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

I  read — lots.  And  I  go  in  and  out  and  in  and  out 
by  the  side  gate,  and  the  sea  keeps  washing  in 
there — but  that's  a  secret.  Auntie  doesn't  know. 
Yes,  I  do  play  the  piano — not  what  you'd  call 
plaj'ing.  Still,  I  do  play.  I  play  Chopin.  I've 
got  Mikuli's  edition — it's  the  best,  isn't  it?  Auntie 
gave  it  me.  She  never  guessed  she  was  giving 
me  the  key  of  all  the  world.  You  know  when  you 
read  something  about  some  one — some  one  that's 
alive — and  instantly  you've  read  it  that  person  is 
somehody  to  j'ou.  That  happened  to  you  with 
me.  I  felt  that  no  one  could  play  Chopin  like  you. 
Then  I  cut  your  photograph  out  of  the  Illustrated 
London  News,  and  I  put  it  in  the  Nocturnes,  and 
when  I'm  playing  alone  I  have  it  on  the  piano  with 
me.  That's  why  I  know  you  so  well.  It's  quite 
true — I  like  Chopin  better  than  anj'thing  else  in 
music,  and  I  like  music  better  than  anything  out- 
side music,  but  I'm  not  really  a  musician.  I  think 
I'm  a  writer.  I  seem  somehow  to  be  able  to 
write. 

Diaz.    What  do  you  write? 

Carlotta.  I've  written  a  novel  about  political 
life  in  London. 

Diaz.  Then  you've  lived  in  London  too.  I 
thought  you  must  have  done. 

Carlotta.  No,  I  haven't.  I've  never  been  there. 
You  see  I've  just  written  my  idea  of  what  it  is. 
Auntie  knew  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  that  I  was 
writing.     But  she  didn't  know  I  was  writing  a 


ACT  I  31 

novel.     And  now  something  dreadful's  occurred. 

Diaz.     What's  that? 

Carlotta.  I  got  the  novel  typewritten  and 
sent  it  to  London,  and  it's  been  accepted!  And 
I've  got  to  tell  auntie. 

Diaz.     Really ! 

Carlotta.  Yes,  it  may  seem  funny,  but  it's 
been  accepted. 

Diaz.  But  surely  all  this  must  be  the  some- 
thing wonderful  that  you've  been  waiting  to  hap- 
pen to  you  in  your  spellbound  garden! 

Carlotta  \^carelessly'\.  Oh!  It's  very  nice. 
But  I  don't  call  that  wonderful.  I  knew  that 
would  happen  sooner  or  later.  I'm  awfully  con- 
ceited, you  know — and  yet  I'm  not. 

Diaz.  Then  what  do  you  mean  by  "wonder- 
ful".'* [Carlotta  gives  a  baffled  gesture.^  The 
subject  has  already  been  mentioned — do  you  mean 
love  ? 

Carlotta.  No.  Not  specially.  It  might  be. 
But  then  it  mightn't. 

Diaz.  Well,  in  your  sense  of  the  word  "won- 
derful," what's  the  most  wonderful  thing  that's 
happened  to  you  up  to  now? 

Carlotta  [after  reflecting!^.    Shall  I  tell  you? 

Diaz.     Do. 

Carlotta  [-with  feeling"].  .  .  .  Wlien  you  had  the 
piano  moved  in  the  middle  of  the  concert,  so 
that  you  could  see  me  better  while  you  played. 


32   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

...  I  shall  never  be  the  same  girl  again.     I'm 
another  girl.  ...  I  must  go. 

Diaz.     No,  no !     Remember  about  living  in  the 
present.     The  train  is  a  long  way  off. 

Carlotta.  It  will  be  terrible  when  I  get  home. 
Auntie  will  have  sent  the  carriage  back  to  the 
station  for  me,  on  the  chance  of  me  being  on  the 
mail-train.  Thank  goodness  she  won't  be  at  the 
station.  I  told  a  frightful  He  so  that  I  could 
come  to  the  concert  to-night.  Auntie  had  bought 
two  tickets,  and  then  this  afternoon  she  says  she's 
feeling  very  unwell  and  I  can't  possibly  go  alone. 
You  don't  know  how  I  felt.  I'd  been  living  at 
your  concert  for  a  month  past.  I  could  have 
died — really.  I  sent  up  a  note  to  Ethel  Ryley — 
a  school  friend  of  mine  who's  just  got  married 
— and  I  implored  her  to  go  with  me.  She  wrote 
back  to  say  she  couldn't.  So  I  told  auntie  she'd 
written  to  say  she  could  go,  and  I  was  to  meet 
her  at  the  station.  Auntie  was  in  bed  by  that 
time.  I  shall  have  to  go  up  to  auntie's  bedroom 
as  soon  as  ever  I  get  home,  and  if  she's  asleep  I 
shall  have  to  wake  her  and  tell  her — about  all 
this. 

Diaz.    But  must  you? 

Carlotta.  Must  I!  I  always  pay  the  price — 
cash!  And  I  always  will.  There's  something  in 
me  that  makes  me.    And  I  like  to. 

Diaz  [looking  at  her  with  admiration,  rather 
•wistfullij'\.    You     are — strong!     But    now    you 


ACT  I  33 

really  ought  to  take  something.  Please  do — be- 
fore I  play.  \^He  moves  to  the  table  where  the 
food  is.^ 

Carlotta  \trying  to  change  her  mood  to  light- 
nessl.     Ought  I?     \_She  follows  him.'\ 

Diaz.     Let  me  see.     Will  you  have  some  fowl? 

Carlotta.  Oh!  What  perfectly  marvellous 
cake !     What  sort  of  cake  is  it  ? 

Diaz  [looJcing  at  the  sliced  roly-poly'\.  I  don't 
know.  Snape  doesn't  usually  get  cake  at  all.  We 
eat  together  after  concerts,  he  and  I.  He  seems 
to  have  surpassed  himself  to-night.  I've  never 
seen  any  cake  like  that  cake. 

Carlotta.    May  I  help  myself? 

Diaz.    Please.     [Begins  to  pour  out  drinhs.'\ 

Carlotta  [biting  into  the  jam  roly-poly;  dis- 
illusioned'\.  Why,  it's  only  cold  jam  roly-poly 
with  sugar  on  it ! 

Diaz.  Never!  I'll  make  Snape  swallow  every 
crumb  of  it,  as  a  punishment  for  putting  this 
shame  upon  me. 

Carlotta  [recovering  herself  quickly'].  But  I 
just  love  it.  .  .  .  Only  I  can't  really  eat  to-night. 
.  .  .  No  thanks,  nothing  to  drink. 

Diaz.     Well,  then,  I  can't  either. 

Carlotta  [with  sudden  curtnessl.  Well,  then, 
play. 

Diaz.    What  would  you  like  me  to  play? 

Carlotta  [appealingly ,  with  emotion  imper- 
fectly restrained].    Don't  ask  me  to  decide. 


34   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Diaz  [becoming  rather  mast  erf ull.  But  you 
must. 

Carlotta  [still  more  appealinglfj,  looTiing  up  at 
him].  Please!  [Pause. '\  I  couldn't  choose,  even 
if  jour  plaj'ing  or  not  playing  depended  on  it. 
You  don't  realize.  You  don't  know  how  I  feel — 
how  I  felt  at  the  concert.  You  couldn't.  When 
you  play — I  receive.  I'm — I'm  like  a  vase.  Shall 
the  vase — choose? 

Diaz  [tiLvning  abruptly  away,  and  then  speafc- 
ing^.  I'll  play  something  for  a  room.  Chamber 
music.  Not  for  the  concert-hall.  The  conditions 
are  different.  [Looking  at  her  as  he  approaches 
the  piano. ^  The  influence  of  the  artist  is  so  much 
more  personal  and  effective — in  a  room. 

Carlotta  [feebly]^.     You  make  me  afraid. 
[She  sits  down  so  that  she  is  screened  from  the 
player  by  the  piano.    Diaz  sits  down  at  the 
piano. 1 

Diaz  [without  looking  at  her^.    Not  there. 

Carlotta.    Yes.    I  like  this  seat. 

Diaz  [in  a  tremulous,  sharp  tone,  without  look- 
ing at  her'\.     No.     I  cannot  see  you.     Come  over 
here,  please,  where  I  can  see  you.     [Looking  at 
her.'\     I  am  used  to  seeing  you  while  I  play. 
[Carlotta  changes  her  seat.'\ 

Carlotta  [nervously^.     Chopin? 
[Diaz  nods,  and  drags  his  chair  a  little  forward, 
Carlotta  settles  herself  in  her  seat,  clearing 
her  throat.     The  pianist's  hands  are  lifted 


ACT  I  85 

over  the  keyboard.  Then  there  are  very  faint 
noises  of  Mrs.  Joicey  and  Louisa  outside. 
They  are  going  up  to  the  second  story. 
Their  voices  are  subdued.  Mrs.  Joicey's 
voice  is  heard,  and  the  words  just  distin- 
guished: "/  tell  you  she's  gone."  Carlotta 
gives  a  nervous  start,  listening.  The  noises 
outside,  always  faint,  die  away.  Absolute 
silence.     Carlotta  leans  back,  relieved. 

Diaz   begins    to    play    the   Revolutionary 
Study  of  Chopin  [op.  25,  No.  11].     After 
about  twenty  bars  Carlotta  springs  up,  with 
a  violent  and  forbidding  gesture  towards  the 
pianist.     He  stops  playing  and  hurries  for- 
ward.  The  atmosphere  of  the  scene  suddenly 
becomes  intensely  emotional.^ 
Diaz.     What  is  the  matter.'* 
Carlotta  [^now  and  henceforward  with  somewhat 
of  the  mature  bearing  of  a  fully  grown  woman^.    I 
cannot  bear  it. 

Diaz.     But  what  is  the  matter? 
Carlotta.    It  is  too  beautiful.     \_She  falls  bacK 
into  her  chair  as  if  exhausted.^    It's  too  beautiful, 
I  tell  you. 

Diaz  [with  ecstatic  realization  of  the  effect  of 
the  music  on  her.^  Does  my  playing  affect  you 
like  that.'*     [She  nods.'\     You  are  marvellous. 

Carlotta.  No,  it's  not  I  that  am  marvellous. 
It's  3^ou  that  are  marvellous.  When  you  were 
describing  your  life  you  left  out  all  that. 


36       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Dia::.     All  what? 

Carlotta.  All  the  beautiful  part !  All  the  sen- 
sations you  produce !  All  the  power  over  others ! 
You  must  know  there's  nothing  equal  to  it  in  the 
whole  world.  Don't  you?  Don't  you  realize  what 
an  autocrat  j^ou  are? 

Diaz  \_appealingli/'\.  And  yd —  You  have 
divined  how  I  suffer,  and  how  tragic  my  life  is! 

Carlotta  [rising;  hraveJyl^.     Yes. 

Diaz  [passionatelyl.  Never  on  this  earth  have 
I  met  a  woman  like  you !  .  .  .  Wlio  are  you  ? 

Carlotta  [^after  a  slight  pause'].  I  told  you 
my  name. 

Diaz  [gazing  at  her.]  Enchantress!  \Kisses 
her  hand.] 

Carlotta  [looking  at  her  hand;  humbly, 
deprecatingly].     Not  that! 

Diaz.     And  why  not? 

Carlotta  [in  another  tone,  stepping  bacJc  vir- 
ginally].  It  is  too  sudden.  I  have  admired  ard 
understood  you  for  years,  without  having  seen 
you.  But  you — you  never  even  knew  of  my  ex- 
istence until  to-night. 

Diaz.  Listen!  I  will  tell  you  something  mys- 
terious and  inexplicable.  The  most  beautiful 
things  and  the  most  vital  things  and  the  most 
lasting  things — come  suddenly. 

Carlotta  [hesitating].     I  am  helpless. 

Diaz.  You !  With  your  character !  It  is  your 
strength  that  I  have  envied.  .  .  .  Give  it  to  me. 


ACT  I  37 

Carlotta  [half  to  lierself'\.     Why  should  I  be 
afraid  of  my  miracle? 

[Diaz  takes  her  hand  again  to  hiss  it.     She 

withdraws  ii.] 
Carlotta.    Kiss  higher  than  the  hand. 
[They  embrace.'] 

CUETATW. 


SCENE  II 

The  same  room  the  next  morning.  Louisa  on  her 
Icnees  at  the  fireplace  is  clearing  the  ashes 
from  the  grate.  The  room  is  full  of  the  cold, 
dim,  blue  light  of  dawn. 

Enter  Carlotta  from  the  bach,  stealthily.  She 
starts  at  seeing  Louisa,  and  Louisa  also 
starts. 

Louisa  [^recovering  herselfl.    Good  morning! 

Carlotta  [excited  and  very  nervous^.  Hush! 
He's  asleep. 

Louisa  [lower'].  Is  he!  Better  shut  the  door, 
then,  if  you  don't  want  to  wake  him.  [She  rises 
and  shuts  the  door  which  Carlotta  has  left  ajar.] 
Now!  .  .  .  [benevolent  and  curious],  I  kriew  you 
hadn't  gone. 

Carlotta.  Will  you  do  something  for  me.''  Lend 
me  a  hat. 

Louisa  [staggered],     A  hat.'' 

Carlotta.  Yes.  One  of  your  own.  Anything 
will  do.     I'll  pay  you  whatever  you  want  for  it. 

Louisa.  I've  got  three.  I  should  think  my  last 
year's  straw  would  suit  you  best. 

Carlotta.     Yes,  yes!     Please!     Quick!     You 

38 


ACT  I  39 

see  I  must  go — now,  at  once.  And  I  can't  pos- 
sibly be  seen  in  the  street  without  something  on 
my  head. 

Louisa  [fo  herself  as  she  leaves  room,  L].  Talk 
about  swallowing  a  camel  and  straining  at  a  gnat ! 
Stops  out  all  night,  but  she  can't  possibly  be 
seen  in  the  street  without  a  hat. 
[Carlotta  looks  for  her  cloak,  finds  it,  and  puts  it 
on,  and  stands  waiting.  Re-enter  Louisa  with 
a  straw  hat,  which  Carlotta  snatches  at.'\ 

Louisa  [as  she  watches  Carlotta  putting  on  the 
hat  at  the  mirror^.  Yes.  It'll  do.  My  sister 
always  did  say  it  was  too  young  for  me.  But 
I'm  glad  I  bought  it,  now.  It's  a  good  thing  it 
was  me  and  not  my  sister  that  was  in  here.  My 
sister's  very  narrow,  my  sister  is.  I'm  different. 
I  don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  me  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  my  sister.  I  should  have  been 
a  oner! 

Carlotta.  I'm  frightfully  obliged  to  you.  How 
much  is  it,  please.? 

Louisa.  Nay !»  Ye*re  very  welcome.  I  can 
easily  make  up  a  tale  to  my  sister. 

Carlotta.     But  I  should  prefer  to  pay. 

Louisa.  Yes.  I  daresay  you  would.  But  you 
see  you  can't. 

Carlotta.     You're  very  kind. 

Louisa.     Well,  I'm  like  that. 

Carlotta.  Will  you  undo  the  front  door  for 
me.f* 


40   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Louisa.  Front  door's  open.  We  always  open 
it  first  thing  to  air  the  house.  Just  slip  quietly 
down  the  stairs  and  it's  in  front  of  you.  And 
look  here — [veri^  kindlt/]  I've  not  seen  you.  I've 
seen  nothing. 

Carlotta  ^at  the  door^.  Thank  you!  You're 
awfully  good-natured. 

Louisa  [with  a  break  in  her  voice'].  Well,  I'm 
like  that.     And  you're  so  young. 

[Exit  Carlotta,  l.] 
[Louisa  hursts  into  tears.] 

CUETAIN. 


ACT  II 

Drawing-room  of  Carlotta's  flat  in  Bloomshury. 
Doors  R.  leading  to  hall,  and  l.  leading  to 
boudoir.  Window  centre  hack,  with  view  of 
roofs,  etc.,  indicating  that  the  flat  is  on  an 
upper  story.  Furnished  with  genuine  taste. 
A  grand  piano,  with  a  cabinet  photograph  of 
Diaz  on  it,  in  a  leather  frame. 

Time:  Afternoon. 

Over  seven  years  have  passed. 

Carlotta  is  alone. 

Enter  Jocelyn  and  Lord  Francis  Alcar. 

Lord  Francis.  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Peel. 
You  must  blame  Jocelyn  for  bringing  me  here. 

Carlotta.  How  nice  of  you  to  come,  Lord 
Francis !     Jocelyn,  I  shall  richly  reward  you. 

Jocelyn  \_kissing  Carlotta].  Well,  I'll  tell  you 
in  a  minute  how  you  can  richly  reward  me.  I 
was  coming  along  here  in  the  new  car  because  I 
was  dying  to  see  you,  and  in  Piccadilly  I  overtook 
Lord  Francis  showing  off  his  beautiful  new  suit 
to  an  admiring  world.  And  he  said  he  wanted  to 
come  too. 

41 


42   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Lord  Francis.  It  was  an  opportunity  not  to 
be  missed.  And  my  desire  to  look  at  you  and 
listen  to  you  got  the  better  of  my  fear  of  the 
imperfectly  tamed  monster  that  this  young  woman 
calls  the  new  car. 

Jocelyn.  Imperfectly  tamed !  Why,  it  will  eat 
out  of  my  hand !  Now,  Miss  Peel,  I've  got  a  very 
serious  piece  of  news  for  you. 

Carloita.     Well,  let's  sit  down.        [They  sit.'\ 

Jocelyn  [serioiisly^.  Mother's  paying  a  call  on 
you  this  afternoon  \with  relief ^^  but  she  won't  be 
here  just  yet.     I'm  getting  my  shot  in  first. 

Carlotta.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  your 
mother. 

Jocelyn.    Oh !    You  are  awful,  Miss  Peel. 

Carlotta.     Why.? 

Jocelyn.  No  one  could  possibly  be  delighted 
to  see  mother.  Do  you  know,  when  I  refused  to 
go  to  church  last  Sunday  father  said  it  didn't 
matter  because  we  always  had  a  church  in  the 
house.  He  meant  mother.  And  mother  is  really 
rather  like  a  church. 

Lord  Francis.  I  see  already  that  this  is  no 
place  for  me.  I've  wandered  by  mistake  into 
the  wrong  generation. 

Jocelyn.  And  what's  more — I  think  Mrs. 
Ispenlove's  coming,  too.  We  passed  her  in  Caro- 
line Street,  and  she  had  a  look  on  her  face  just 
as  if  she  was  going  to  pay  a  state  visit  to  her 
husband's    principal    author.    Mother    says    the 


ACT  n  43 

Ispenloves  have  gone  into  their  new  house  simply 
on  the  strength  of  your  books.  Of  course  mother 
always  has  a  fearful  down  on  publishers,  but  I 
do  tliink  there's  something  in  it  as  regards  the 
Ispenloves.  Every  one  says  Mr.  Ispenlove  must 
have  made  thousands  and  thousands  out  of  your 
books,  Miss  Peel.  ...  I  seem  to  be  doing  all 
the  talking.   .  .  . 

Carlotta.  But  we  love  it,  don't  we,  Lord 
Francis  ? 

Lord  Francis.  Without  doubt.  Do  conquer 
your  diffidence,  Jocelyn. 

Jocelyn.     Well  now,  about  that  reward. 

Carlotta.     What  reward? 

Jocelyn.  I  like  that !  You  said  you  would 
richly  reward  me  for  bringing  Lord  Francis,  and 
you've  forgotten  all  about  it  already!  \Coax- 
ingly.']  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want.  Miss  Peel. 
Mother  won't  let  me  read  your  novels.  Do  make 
her.  I'm  particularly  dying  to  read  "The  Cur- 
tain." That's  really  what  I  came  about.  You 
could  speak  to  her  when  she  comes. 

Carlotta.  But  why  won't  she  let  you  read 
them  ? 

Jocelyn.  She  says  they — aren't  for  me.  Wliat 
I  say  is — they're  much  more  for  me  than  they 
are  for  her. 

Carlotta.     How  do  you  know  that? 

Jocelyn.  Well,  aren't  they  frightfully  ad- 
vanced?   As  a  matter  of  fact  I  know  they  are. 


44       SACRED  AND  TROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta.  Now,  Jocelyn,  do  please  be  a  woman 
of  the  world. 

Jocelyn.    But  I  am. 

Carlotta.  Are  you.''  A  woman  of  the  world 
exercises  her  imagination.  A  woman  of  the  world 
would  see  that  you  are  putting  me  in  an  im- 
possible position.  How  can  I  say  to  your 
mother:  "Mrs.  Sardis,  I  understand  you  refuse 
to  let  your  daughter  Jocelyn  read  my  novels.  I 
beg  you  not  to  let  this  occur  again."  I  assure 
you  that  modern  lady  novelists  \_with  irony  on 
the  phrasel  do  not  talk  to  each  other  in  that 
way. 

Jocelyn.  I  see  what  you  mean.  I  never  thought 
of  that. 

Lord  Francis.  You've  got  all  your  mother's 
books  to  read. 

Jocelyn.    I've  read  'em. 

Lord  Francis.  Then  she  lets  you  read  her  own 
novels  ? 

Jocelyn.  There's  no  letting  about  it.  I  jolly 
well  have  to.  Worse  luck!  I  never  could  under- 
stand mother's  popularity.  Father  can't  either. 
[To  Carlotta.']  Then  you  can't  do  anything 
for  me?     You  couldn't  just  hint  .  .  .? 

Carlotta.     I  hate  hints. 

Jocelyn.  Oh!  So  do  I!  Well,  all  right  then. 
Do  you  know  what  I  shall  do  ?  I  shall  go  straight 
to  Hatchards,  and  I  shall  buy  "The  Curtain,"  out 


ACT  II  45 

of  my  own  hard-earned,  and  I  shall  take  it  home, 
and  I  shall  tear  the  cover  off  it. 

Carlotta.    Oh,  Jocelyn! 

Jocelyn.  Yes,  and  I  shall  tear  the  cover  off 
one  of  mother's  books,  and  I  shall  stickphast  your 
book  inside  mother's  covers,  and  I  shall  flaunt  it 
in  front  of  her.  And  she'll  think  I'm  reading  her 
silly  old  thing  twice  over — which  heaven  forbid! 
.  .  .  Now  I've  finished,  Lord  Francis.  You  can 
have  your  turn.  I  do  want  to  hear  you  and  Miss 
Peel  talk. 

Lord  Francis.  No,  Jocelyn!  No!  I  see 
plainly  now  that  I  made  a  mistake  in  letting  you 
bring  me  here.    I  ought  to  have  come  alone. 

Jocelyn.  Then  you  won't  talk  in  front  of  me. 
You'll  trust  your  very  life  to  a  turn  of  my  wrist 
in  Piccadilly  Circus,  but  you  won't  talk  because 
I'm  here.    I  must  say  I'm  getting  a  bit  fed  up. 

Lord  Francis  [protesting  against  all  this  lan- 
guage'[.  Remember,  my  child,  that  you  are  in  the 
presence  of  a  very  distinguished  woman. 

Carlotta  \^sympathetically'\.  Don't  you  detest 
distinguished  people,  Jocelyn  .»* 

Jocelyn.  Oh,  I  do!  They're  ten  a  penny  in 
our  house.  Mother's  been  translated  into  nine 
languages —  [^  parrot  screams  off.'\  What's 
that.? 

Carlotta.  It's  the  parrot,  back  from  the  vet's. 
J.  expect  Miss  Palmer's  feeding  it. 

Jocelyn.     In  the  boudoir.? 


46       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

CarJotta.     Yes. 

Jocelyn.     Can  I  go  and  look  at  it? 

Carlotta.     Do. 

Jocelyn.  I  adore  Miss  Palmer.  She  isn't  cele- 
brated. 

Lord  Francis.    INIiss  Palmer? 

Carlotta.     My  secretary. 

Jocelyn.  The  ever-faithful  Emmeline!  [On 
the  way  out.'\  Whose  is  this  portrait  that's  al- 
ways on  the  piano? 

Carlotta.    It's  a  famous  pianist. 

Jocelyn.    Did  you  know  him? 

Carlotta  [evenly,  after  a  slight  pause].  I  only 
met  him  once  in  my  life — j^ears  ago. 

Jocelyn.  Why  do  you  have  his  portrait  always 
on  the  piano? 

Carlotta.  Well,  you  see,  he  could  play  the 
piano. 

Jocelyn.     lATiat's  his  name? 

Carlotta.     Diaz — Emilio  Diaz. 

Jocelyn.    I  never  heard  of  him. 

Lord  Francis.     Such  is  fame. 
[Exit  Jocelyn,   l.   with  a   charmingly  impudent 
how  to  Lord  Francis.] 

Lord  Francis  [indicating  Jocelyn].  And  you 
were  like  that  once? 

Carlotta.     I  wonder. 

Lord  Francis.     More  or  less. 

Carlotta.     I  should  say  rather  less  than  more. 

Lord  Francis.     But  you  know  what  I  mean? 


ACT  II  47 

Carlofta.    Yes. 

Lord  Francis.     And  how  long  since  is  it? 

Carlotta.  Since  what?  Since  I  was  a  young 
girl — within  the  meaning  of  the  Act?  It's  diffi- 
cult to  say. 

Lord  Francis.    Why? 

Carlotta.  Because  when  you're  a  young  girl 
you  don't  know  you  are.  You  don't  find  out  till 
afterwards,  and  often  quite  a  long  time  after- 
wards. If  you  tried  to  persuade  Jocelyn  that 
she's  all  that  you  mean  by  a  young  girl,  you'd 
fail.  She's  convinced  that  people  older  than 
herself  have  a  great  deal  to  learn,  and  she  feels 
disillusioned  because  once  she  hoped  to  be  able 
to  teach  them  a  thing  or  two,  whereas  now  she 
knows  they're  too  stupid  to  learn.  That's 
Jocelyn's  picture  of  herself.  There  are  no  young 
girls.     There  never  \vere  any — in  your  sense. 

Lord  Francis.  Dear  me !  And  I  thought  this 
conversation  would  be  so  simple !  Well,  never 
mind.  Let  me  lead  you  quietly  back  to  the  point. 
How  long  is  it  since  you  were  more  or  less  like 
Jocelyn?    Ten  years? 

Carlotta.    Oh,  no  !    Perhaps — ^well,  seven. 

Lord  Francis.  And  what  brought  about  the 
change  ? 

Carlotta.  Is  this  jiist  curiosity,  Lord  Francis, 
or  personal  interest? 

Lord  Francis.  Impersonal  interest.  I'm  an 
old  man,  a  very  old  man — over  eighty.     I'm  in- 


48       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

different  to  everything,  except  food  and  warmth. 
I've  nothing  to  gain  and  scarcely  anything  to 
lose.  I  don't  live.  I  survive.  My  sole  hobby  is 
facts — about  human  nature.  I  don't  divide  facts 
into  categories.  Anybody  may  tell  me  anything 
without  troubling  to  blush.  I  can  offer  to  my 
friends  the  rare  luxury  of  shameless  candour, 
combined  with  absolute  ease  and  safety. 

Carlotta.     It's  terrifying,  but  it's  tempting. 

Lord  Francis.  Ah !  You  understand !  Tell 
me.     You  live  alone.     Have  you  no  relatives? 

Carlotta.  Not  since  my  aunt  died.  She  died 
very  suddenly.  I  went  to  a  concert;  and  when  I 
got  home  I  found  her  dead. 

Lord  Francis.     Maiden  aunt.? 

Carlotta.    Yes. 

Lord  Francis.  I  suppose  you  were  about 
twenty  then. 

Carlotta.    Yes. 

Lord  Francis.    What  sort  of  a  concert? 

Carlotta.     Piano  recital.     Chopin. 

Lord  Francis.  And  after  that  you  were  by 
yourself  ? 

Carlotta.     I  came  to  London. 

Lord  Francis.  With  the  manuscript  of  your 
first  novel  in  your  trunk. 

Carlotta.  No.  That  went  first.  Luggage  in 
advance.  Mr.  Ispenlove  had  already  bought  it. 
I  threw  myself  at  the  Ispenloves.  They  gave  me 
my  first  lessons  in  the  great  subject  of  London* 


ACT  II  49 

I  took  this  flat,  wrote  another  novel — two  more, 
took  a  secretary — wrote  three  more  novels,  bought 
a  parrot 

Lord  Francis.  The  parrot  Is  a  disturbing 
sign. 

Carlotta.  Yes,  it  is.  But  not  so  disturbing 
as  cats  would  be.  Then  I  wrote  another  novel. 
Indeed  I  finished  it  only  yesterday.  I've  written 
eight  novels  in  eight  years,  and  made  more  money 
than  I   can   spend.     And  there  you   are! 

Lord  Francis.  But  you've  explained  nothing 
— nothing  whatever — about  the  change  from 
somebody  more  or  less  like  Jocelyn — to  you. 

Carlotta.  Haven't  I.^  Still,  everything  hap- 
pened just  like  that. 

Lord  Francis.  Now  listen  to  the  detached  and 
frigid  spectator.  I've  read  your  books.  And  I 
think  you've  explained  the  two  sexes  to  each  other 
just  about  as  well  as  any  novelist  ever  did.  I 
turn  from  the  books  to  their  author,  and  I  find 
a  young  creature  who  lived  alone  with  a  maiden 
aunt  until  she  was  twenty,  and  then  lived  alone 
with  a  parrot  and  a  female  clerk,  and  wrote  eight 
long  books  in  eight  years,  and  became  extremely 
famous.  .  .  .  There's  something  wrong  with  the 
equation.  .  .  .  [In  a  more  intimate  tone.'\  Where 
did  you  get  It  all  from  ? 

Carlotta.    All  what.'' 

Lord  Francis.  All  that's  in  your  admirable 
but  disconcerting  books.  .  .  .  Out  of  your  head.-^ 


50   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta.     I  suppose  so. 

Lord  Francis.    Or  out  of  your  heart? 

Carlotta.  Lord  Francis,  you  said  3'ou  were 
very  old;  but  let  me  warn  you — you're  getting 
dangerously   younger  every  second. 

Lord  Francis.  No.  You  are  mistaking  the 
signs.  I'm  getting  older  every  second.  The  aged 
sometimes  have  a  strange  desire.  I  have  it  and 
occasionally  it  excites  me.  Nincompoops  call  it 
senile  inquisitiveness,  but  it's  really  the  desire  to 
take  into  the  next  world  all  possible  knowledge 
of  this.   .   .   .  Might  be  useful,  you  see. 

Carlotta.  Yes,  it  might.  But  there  are  some 
little  bits  of  information  that  the  next  world 
will  just  have  to  do  without. 

Lord  Francis,  Then  it  was  the  heart.  I  felt 
sure  of  it. 

Carlotta.     I  never  said  so. 

Lord  Francis.  Yes,  you  did.  I  understand. 
It  was  the  heart — when  you  were  twenty.  Since 
then  you  have  taken  to  writing  as  some  women 
take  to  drugs.  And  it  has  obtained  such  a  hold 
of  you  that  you  cannot  do  without  it. 

Carlotta.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  determined 
to  do  no  more  work  for  twelve  months. 

Lord  Francis,     Seriously? 

Carlotta.     Quite. 

Lord  Francis.  Then  you  mean  to  give  your- 
self to  love — again. 

Carlotta.     Oh!  .  .  .  Do  you  advise  it? 


ACT  II  51 

Lord  Francis  \^coldly'\.  I  absolutely  prescribe 
it.  [With  growing  passion.']  I  said  I  was  indif- 
ferent to  everything  except  food  and  warmth. 
But  there's  one  thing  that  still  arouses  me.  It's 
the  sight  of  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  grow- 
ing older  in  solitude  without  noticing  that  she 
is  growing  older.  Waste!  Horrible  waste! 
Against  nature!  You're  beautiful — lovely.  You 
have  temperament.  You  were  born  for  love. 
And  you  are  prostituting  yourself  to — novels. 
Repent !  It's  dangerous.  But  repent !  Risk  un- 
happiness  and  disaster.  But  repent!  The  best 
years  are  almost  gone. 

Carlotta.     You  came  to  tell  me  this. 

Lord  Francis  [coldlyl.  1  did.  I  regard  it  as 
my  privilege. 

Enter  Mrs.  Sardis  and  Mrs.  Ispenlove,  n. 

Mrs.  Sardis  [as  she  comes  in,  before  Carlotta 
has  quite  recovered  her  equanimityl.  Mrs.  Is- 
penlove and  I  joined  forces  in  the  lift.  How  do 
you  do? 

Lord  Francis  [aside  to  Carlotta^  as  he  slowly 
rises].    Another  brace  for  you. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  [nervously].  Well,  Carlotta. 
I  only  looked  in  for  a  moment. 

Mrs.  Sardis.    Ah !    Lord  Francis. 
[The  two  new  visitors  shake  hands  with  Carlotta, 
and  Mrs.  Sardis  with  Lord  Francis  Alcar.] 

Carlotta.     So  nice  of  you  to  call.     I  didn't 


52   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

know   that   you   and   jNIrs.   Ispenlove  knew   each 
other.     Lord  Francis  Alcar — Mrs.   Ispenlove. 
l^Lord  Francis  sits  down  apart,  showing  no  in- 
terest whatever  in  the  talk.^ 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Oh,  yes!  We  met  once  at  a 
dinner 

Carlotta.     I  see. 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Of  the  Publishing  Trade  Benev- 
olent Society.  And  had  quite  a  pleasant  chat 
about  trade  matters.  I  remembered  Mrs.  Ispen- 
love perfectly.  How  is  that  clever  husband  of 
yours,  Mrs.  Ispenlove? 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  [^controlling  her  nervousness'\. 
Very  well,  but  very  busy. 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Thanks  largely  no  doubt  to  the 
books  of  our  friend  [indicating  Carlotta^.  I 
always  say — what  a  godsend  it  must  be  to  a 
publisher,  even  if  he  is  a  pushing  man,  when  he 
finds  an  author  whose  books  the  public  will  insist 
on  buying — in  spite  of  the  strange  business 
methods  of  publishers.  And  yet  some  publishers 
aren't  satisfied  with  taking  nearly  all  the  money, 
they  want  all  the  glory,  too.  I  know  I  l&ft  my 
last  publisher  because  he  always  gave  the  impres- 
sion that  in  addition  to  publishing  my  books — he 
wrote  them. 

{During  the  foregoing  Jocelyn  enters."] 

Jocelyn  [very  demure  and  submissive].  Oh, 
mother  darling! 

Mrs.  Sardis.     No  doubt,  my  child.     But  you 


ACT  II  53 

ought  to  have  told  your  mother  where  you  were 
going.  You  might  have  brought  me.  I  had  to 
come  in  a  taxi,  and  when  I  arrive  I  find  my  own 
car  at  the  door. 

Jocelyn.  Oh,  mother  darling,  I  didn't  know. 
Lord  Francis  asked  me  to  give  him  a  lift. 

Mrs.  Sardis  [sweetl?/].     Ah!    In  that  case 

Lord  Francis  Icoldli/'].  Is  that  my  chauffeur.? 
[Rising.]  Please  take  me  back  at  once  to  the 
precise  spot  in  Piccadilly  from  which  you  ab- 
ducted me.     [To  Carlotta.]    Good-bye,  dear  lady. 

Carlotta.  But  you'll  have  some  tea.  Lord 
Francis. 

Lord  Francis.  No,  I  thank  you.  [Shakes 
hands.] 

Carlotta.     Why  not.? 

Lord  Francis.  I  never  have  tea  in  my 
friends'  drawing-rooms  now.  It  makes  me  feel 
as  if  I  was  on  the  stage.  Tea  has  been  served  in 
every  play  I've  seen  for  the  last  ten  years.  It 
was  not  so  in  my  younger  days.  These  modern 
dramatists  have  made  tea  impossible  for  decent 
people. 

Jocelyn  [very  priml.  Oh,  how  do  you  do, 
Mrs.  Ispenlove.? 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  My  dear!  [They  shake 
hands.] 

Jocelyn.  We  often  meet  here,  don't  we?  I 
see  Mr.  Ispenlove  has  just  published  a  book 
about    the    Breton    peasant.       We're    going    to 


54   SACRED  AND  TROFANE  LOVE 

Brittany  in  August,  and  I  shall  read  it  if 
mother  thinks  it  wise  for  me  to  study  the  con- 
dition of  the  lower  classes  in  France.  May  I, 
mother  darling? 

Mrs.  Sardis.     Certainly,  my  child. 

Jocelyn.  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Peel.  It  was 
kind  of  you  to  let  me  see  your  adorable  parrot. 
[Shakes  hands,  hows  to  Mrs.  Ispenlove-I  You 
coming,  mother  ? 

Mrs.  Sardids.  No,  my  child.  Take  great  care 
of  Lord  Francis. 

Lord  Francis  \turning  bach  from  the  door,  to 
Jocelyn^,     Have  you  got  a  driving  licence  ? 

Jocelyn.  Oh,  yes,  Lord  Francis.  I've  had 
one  for  eight  months.    I'm  nearly  nineteen. 

Carlotta.     Good-bye. 
[^Exeunt  Lord  Francis  and  Jocelyn,  n.     As  she 
leaves,  Jocelyn  gives  a  youthful  Jcick  in  the 
air.^ 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.     I  must  go,  too. 

Carlotta  [turning  to  her  from  the  departing 
guests'}.     Not  yet.     Not  yet. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  [preoccupied'].  Yes.  I  called 
at  the  office  to  see  Frank,  but  he  wasn't  in.  I 
thought  he  might  have  run  up  here  for  a  cup  of 
tea  [Carlotta  shakes  her  head],  and  as  it  was  on 
my  way —     Good-day,  Mrs.  Sardis. 

Carlotta.  Mr.  Ispenlove  hasn't  been  here  for 
at  least  a  week — not  since  I  saw  you  last. 

Mrs.  Sardis  [to  Mrs.  Ispenlove].     Good  after- 


ACT  II  55 

noon.  I  hope  we  may  meet  again — perhaps  at 
the  next  annual  dinner  of  the  Publishing  Trade 
Benevolent  Society. 

Carlotta  [as  Mrs.  Ispenlove  suddenly  Jcisse^ 
her'].     Well,  you  are  in  a  hurry. 

\^Exit  Mrs.  Ispenlove  quickly.] 

Carlotta.  I'll  ring  for  tea.  \_Moving  towards 
mantelpiece.] 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Please  don't.  Tea  means  ser- 
vants, and  I  want  to  speak  to  you  quite  privately. 

Carlotta  [^returning].  I  have  always  under- 
stood that  social  life  in  London  was  founded  on 
the  axiom  that  servants  are  stone  deaf  by  pro- 
fession. 

Mrs.  Sardis.  It  may  be;  but  the  sight  of 
their  ears  is  disturbing.  However,  Miss  Peel,  I 
did  not  come  for  dialogue,  which  we  can  both 
compose  so  well  in  our  different  ways.  I  wish  to 
talk  to  you  about —  [Breaking  off  and  beginning 
again.]     I'm  thirty  years  older  than  you. 

Carlotta.     No  one  would  think  it. 

Mrs.  Sardis.  When  I'm  dead  you  will  in- 
evitably take  my  place. 

Carlotta.  Take  your  place,  Mrs.  Sardis  ? 
Do  you  know  that  you  are  alarming  me? 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Let  us  be  frank.  Between  col- 
leagues false  modesty  is  out  of  place.  I  am  the 
leader  of  English  fiction  to-day.  Not  merely  the 
leading  woman  novelist,  but  the  leading  novelist. 
I  have  been  for  twenty  years,  and  I  shall  be  until 


56       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

I  die  or  until  I — relinquish  the  pen.  Why  pre- 
tend to  ignore  what  is  universally  admitted?  As 
IMr.  Gladstone  said,  there  is  no  question  of  rivalry 
— there  cannot  be.  But  when  I  am  gone  my 
mantle — if  I  may  use  the  term — will  fall  on  you. 

Carlotta  \_glancing  at  Mrs.  Sardis'  attire\. 
Will  it? 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Unquestionably.  You  too  have 
genius.  And  for  the  second  time  in  succession 
the  leadership  of  the  greatest  modern  art  will 
be  held  by  a  woman.  A  proud  thought  for 
our  sex — although,  mind  you,  I  am  a  convinced 
opponent  of  women's  suffrage.  Now,  Miss  Peel, 
I  admire  your  work  extremely.  At  first  I  had 
my  mental  reservations — but  the  immense 
popular  appreciation  which  you  have  received 
has  done  away  with  them  entirely. 

Carlotta.  That  is  very  nice,  but  surely  your 
judgment  isn't  influenced  by  popular  apprecia- 
tion, is  it? 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Of  course  it  is.  My  dear — the 
great  public  is  always  right.  Look  at  my  own 
case. 

Carlotta  \_convinced'].     Just  so.     But 

Mrs.  Sardids.  Pardon  me.  Let  me  come  to 
my  point.  Now —  {^sto'pping'l — may  I  call  you 
Carlotta  ? 

Carlotta.     Please  do,  Mrs.  Sardis. 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Let  me  ofTer  you  a  little  advice, 
my    dear,    dear    Carlotta.     I    know    the    public. 


ACT  II  57 


The  public  will  accept  any  amount  of- 
unconventionality  in  your  novels — you  have 
already  taught  it  to  do  so — but  only  on  one 
condition.  Namely,  that  there  is  no  suspicion 
of — er — unconventionality  in  your  private  life. 

Carlotta  [^simply'].  I  see.  The  public  won't 
mind  what  I  say  so  long  as  it  thinks  I  don't 
know  what  I  am  talking  about.  If  it  has  reason 
to  suppose  that  I  do  know  what  I'm  talking 
about,  then  it  will  cease  to  respect  me. 

Mrs.  Sardis  \yery  seriously^.  Exactly!  You 
have  stated  the  case  with  all  your  accustomed 
epigrammatic  lucidity.  ...  I  needn't  tell  you, 
my  dear  girl,  that  I  don't  for  a  single  moment 
suspect  you  of — ^knowledge.  You  have  genius. 
That  is  enough.  You  and  I  know  how  novels  are 
written.  Nevertheless — forgive  me — the  tongue 
of  scandal  is  at  work.  I  am  your  true  friend  and 
I  have  come  to  warn  you. 

Carlotta.  Is  this  the  result  of  my  Sunday 
golf? 

Mrs.  Sardis.  My  dear  Carlotta,  your  name  is 
being  connected  with  that  of  jNIr.  Ispenlove ! 

Carlotta  \_startled,  but  controlling  herselfl. 
Mr.  Ispenlove? 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Your  publisher!  Oh,  I  am 
sure  you  are  utterly  innocent.  If  I  was  not  sure 
of  that  my  daughter  would  not  be  a  visitor  to  this 
charming  flat  of  yours.  Probably  your  very 
innocence  is  responsible  for  the — er — artless  un- 


58   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

conventionality  wliich  has  given  rise  to  the  tale. 
[UeassuringJy.']  You  need  not  be  apprehensive. 
The  danger  is  already  at  an  end.  I  have  myself 
denied  the  slander.  But  tliere  is  a  lesson  in  the 
incident.  [With  real  emotion.']  Carlotta,  I  am 
very  jealous  for  the  honour  of  our  high  vocation. 
And  my  desire  is  that  wlien  our  biographies  come 
to  be  written,  yours  and  mine,  no  page  shall  be 
stained  by  even  a  rumour.  And  may  I  add  just 
one  word  ?  I  personally  have  nothing  against 
Mr.  Ispenlove.  I  am  ready  to  believe  that  he  is 
an  excellent  man,  and  that  you  think  you  owe  a 
great  deal  to  him.  But  my  experience  has  taught 
me  that  purely  formal  relations  are  best — with 
one's  publishers. 

Carlotta  \_enigmatically'\.  Thank  you,  Mrs. 
Sardis.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  tell 
you  what  value  I  attach  to  your  candour — and 
your  courage. 

Mrs,  Sardis.  Not  at  all.  \N onclialantly .]  I 
am  full  of  sympathy  for  Mrs.  Ispenlove,  poor 
woman ! 

Carlotta.     Really? 

Mrs.  Sardis.  And  I  noticed  you  kissed  her. 
That  at  any  rate  would  alone  dispose  of 

Carlotta  [^firmly].  No.  I  didn't  kiss  her. 
She  kissed  me.  And  it  was  the  first  time.  \^She 
gazes  steadily  at  Mrs.  Sardis.] 

Mrs.  Sardis  \_after  a  pause,  disturbed].     Oh! 


ACT  II  59 

Carlotta.  Why  are  you  so  sorry  for  Mrs. 
Ispenlove  ? 

Mrs.  Sardis.  Mr.  Ispenlove  has  been  the 
topic  of  conversation  before  •  .  .  before  ever  you 
came  to  London. 

Carlotta  \^aroused^.  He  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
and  I  must  ask  you 

Mrs.  Sardis  [^after  a  pause,  still  more  dis- 
turbed].    Oh! 

[Enter  Frank  Ispenlove,  n,  rather  dishevelled. 
He  makes  a  gesture  toward  Carlotta  before 
catching  sight  of  Mrs.  Sardis.] 

Mrs.  Sardis.     Mr.  Ispenlove! 
[Overwhelmed  by  sudden  and  terrible  suspicions, 
she  bows  gravely,  and  goes  out  in  silence,  r.] 
[A  pause.]. 

Carlotta.  What  is  the  matter.'*  Do  you 
know  your  necktie  is  all  crooked.'' 

Ispenlove  [in  a  voice  harsh  with  emotion].  Ah! 
If  you  turn  against  me  to-day,  I  shall — I  don't 
know  what  I  shall  do. 

Carlotta.  Turn  against  you!  .  .  .  Let  me 
straighten  it  for  you. 

Ispenlove  [dropping  his  hat;  as  she  straightens 
the  necktie].  It's  finished  between  Mary  and 
me !  .  .  .  It's    finished !       I've    no    one    but    you 

now,  and  I've  come — I've  come 

[Carlotta,  having  straightened  the  necktie,  pats 
it.  They  look  at  each  other.  She  holds  out 
her  hand.     Instead  of  taking  it,  Ispenlove 


60       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

suddenly  Jcisses  her.  For  an  instant  Car- 
lot  t  a  seems  to  resent  the  kiss.  Then  she  re- 
lent s.^ 

Ispenlove  \Jwlding  her  hand'\.  I  can't  believe 
it! 

Carlotta  [graveJy'\.     Why  not? 

Ispenlove.  Ever  since  yesterday  I've  been 
trying  to  come  here,  and  I  daren't.  And  I've 
been  trying  to  think  how  I  should  say  it,  and  I 
couldn't.  And  I've  said  nothing,  and  I've  kissed 
you.  [Carlotta  nods.^  A  minute  ago  I  was  so 
miserable,  I  was  in  such  a  state — anything  might 
have  happened  to  me. 

Carlotta.     Poor  boy! 

Ispenlove.  Now  everything's  all  right.  It 
seems  as  if  I  hadn't  a  care.  Well,  I  haven't. 
You  do  love  me.''  [Carlotta  nods.']  Say  it,  say 
it!  .  .  .  You  aren't  just  taking  pity  on  me. 
[Carlotta  shaJces  her  head  with  a  sad  smile.]  I've 
always  been  in  love  with  you — ever  since  that 
day  you  called  at  my  office  about  your  manu- 
script— your  first  day  in  London — and  I  drove 
you  back  to  your  hotel.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
feel  of  being  in  the  taxi  with  you.  I  didn't  sleep 
all  night — couldn't,  didn't  want  to.  I  wouldn't 
have  gone  to  sleep  for  anything.  You  see 
I  couldn't  bear  not  to  be  thinking  about 
you. 

Carlotta.  You  dear  thing!  How  beauti- 
fully you  tell  me  1 


ACT  II  61 

Ispenlove.  But  you  haven't  always  been  in 
love  with  me. 

Carlotta.     No. 

Ispenlove.  Then  when  did  you — when  did 
you  first — I'm  dying  to  know. 

Carlotta.  I  didn't  notice  myself  for  a  long 
time.  But  when  you  told  me  that  the  end  of 
"The  Curtain"  was  not  as  good  as  I  could  make 
it — do  you  remember  that  afternoon  in  your 
office? — you  were  so  shy  about  critising  me,  you 
were  afraid  to — your  throat  went  dry  and  you 
stroked  your  forehead  as  you  always  do  when 
you're  nervous.  There,  you're  doing  it  now, 
foolish  boy !  It  was  brave  of  you  to  tell  me. 
Mind,  you  were  wrong  about  the  end  of  that 
book.  I  altered  it  to  please  you,  quite  against 
my  conscience.  I  enjoyed  altering  it,  and  when 
I'd  altered  it  I  began  to  guess  how  fond  of  you  I 
was.  .  .  .  That  was  it. 

Ispenlove.  It's  incredible.  Incredible!  It 
passes  comprehension ! 

Carlotta.  Well,  of  course,  dear!  That's  just 
what  love  does.  Didn't  you  know.'*  It's  just 
the  same  for  me  as  it  is  for  you. 

Ispenlove.  No,  no!  You  don't  understand, 
you  can't  understand,  how  I  felt  when  I  first 
began  to  suspect  that  I  really  meant  something 
to  you.  I'm  nobody.  I  can't  talk.  I  can't 
write.    I  can't  play.    I  can't  do  anything.     And 


62   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

look  at  some  of  the  fellows  who  come  here!     I'm 
nothing  but  a  rotten  publisher. 

Carlotta.  You  are  you!  That  was  what 
seemed  to  be  always  the  miracle  to  me,  whenever 
we  sat  in  your  little  private  office,  going  through 
proofs  and  things — or  pretending  to. 

Ispenlove  [reflective}.  What  marvellous  after- 
noons we  have  had! 

Carlotta.  Yes.  It  appears  that  they  have 
caused  remark. 

Ispenlove.     Caused  remark?    How? 

Carlotta.  I  don't  know.  You  saw  Mrs. 
Sardis.  She  came  to  warn  me  that  scandal  had 
started.  However,  she's  thoroughly  convinced  of 
our  innocence.     She  was  superb. 

Ispenlove.     But  we'd  done  nothing. 

Carlotta.  Yes,  we  had.  We'd  fallen  in  love. 
Your  clerks  noticed  my  visits  to  the  office.  Do 
you  suppose  publishers'  clerks  aren't  human? 
Do  you  suppose  they're  blind — or  dumb?  Do 
you  suppose  they  don't  know  what  being  in  love 
is  themselves? 

Ispenlove.     I'd  sack  the  lot  for  two  pins! 

Carlotta.  Not  you!  You're  much  more 
likely  to  raise  all  their  salaries. 

Ispenlove.  Carlotta —  [After  gazing  at  her 
and  turning  away.']  Listen.  Our  two  lives  are 
in  our  hands  at  this  moment — this  moment  while 
we're  talking  here. 

Carlotta,     I  feel  it. 


ACT  II  63 

Ispenlove.  What  are  we  to  do?  What  shall 
we  decide  to  do? 

Carlotta.  You  see  j^our  wife  and  I  are  such 
good  friends. 

Ispenlove  {loudlyl .  No !  No !  No !  For 
God's  sake,  don't  begin  like  that.  You're  above 
that  sort  of  argument.  Mary  has  been  your 
friend.  Good.  You  respect  her;  she  respects 
you.  Good.  Is  that  a  reason  why  our  lives 
should  be  ruined,  yours  and  mine?  Will  ruining 
our  lives  benefit  Mary?  I  tell  3'ou  every  tiling  is 
over  between  her  and  me.    Everything. 

Carlotta.  She  hasn't  the  least  suspicion 
about  me  ? 

Ispenlove.     I  am  aware  of  that.     [^  pause.'] 

Carlotta.  Dear  love,  what  do  you  want  me 
to  do? 

Ispenlove.  The  only  honest  thing.  I  want 
you  to  go  away  with  me  so  that  Mary  can  get  a 
divorce. 

Carlotta  \^soothmgly'\.     My  poor  boy! 

Ispenlove  \_calmed'\.  We  shall  go  away  and 
leave  everything.    You  understand? 

Carlotta  [^reflectively].  Yes.  Of  all  the  things 
we  possess  now,  we  should  have  nothing  but 
ourselves.  Thousands  have  done  what  you  are 
asking  me  to  do.  And  all  of  them  have  thought 
that  their  o^vn  case  was  different  from  all  the 
other  cases.     And  a  few  have  not  regretted  the 


64   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

price.  A  few  have  been  happy.  A  few  have  re- 
tained the  illusion. 

Ispenlove.     Illusion,  dear  girl? 

Carlotta.  Yes.  The  supreme  illusion  of  love. 
Isn't  it  an  illusion?  I  have  seen  it  at  work  in 
others,  and  in  exactly  the  same  way  I  see  it  at 
work  in  you  and  me.  .  .  .  No  one  can  foretell 
the  end  of  love. 

Ispenlove.  Carlotta,  if  you  keep  on  like  that, 
you'll  frighten  me. 

Carlotta  \^sviilmg'\.  I?  No.  I  will  brace 
you.  Because  whatever  the  end  of  the  illusion 
and  the  price  paid,  I  am  one  of  those  who  believe 
that  the  illusion  is  worth  it  and  that  it's  divine. 
.  .  .  Only,  don't  let  our  love  be  blind.  We 
should  go  away.  But  we  should  creep  back. 
They  nearly  all  do ;  and  we  should.  And  then 
would  come  the  ordeal  for  our  love. 

Ispenlove.  Then  would  you  prefer  to  stay 
here  through  all  the  divorce  business  and  brazen 
it  out? 

Carlotta.     No. 

Ispenlove.     It  would  be  frightful. 

Carlotta.     It  would. 

Ispenlove.     Well,  there's  no  other  alternative. 

Carlotta.  Yes,  there  is  another.  ^Moving 
away  from  Jiim.'\ 

Ispenlove  [^with  Jiopel.     What  is  it? 

Carlotta  [quietly  hut  impressively^.  We  can 
resist  temptation.     We  can  give  each  other  up, 


ACT  II  65 

now,  this  afternoon.  You  can  return  to  your 
wife.  We  can  both  of  us  prove  to  our  friends — 
yes,  and  to  ourselves — that  there  may  be  some- 
thing splendid  in  the  soul  stronger  than  sexual 
love.    Do  you  know  what  it  is  ?    Fortitude ! 

Ispenlove  [with  ahandonment'l.  I  cannot!  I 
cannot !  .  .  .  I've  kissed  you ! 

Carlotta  [with  an  appealing,  protesting  ges- 
tu,re'\.  You  cannot?  You  say  you  love  and  yet 
you  cannot  endure? 

[Enter  suddenly  Miss  Palmer,  t..,  from  the  bou- 
doir.    She  stops  undecided  at  the  door.'\ 

Carlotta.     Come  in.  Miss  Palmer,  come  in. 

Miss  Palmer  [  shutting  the  door,  very  dis- 
turbed^.    I  just  wanted  a  word  with  you. 

Carlotta.     What  is  it? 

Miss  Palmer.  If  you  could  spare  a  moment — 
now! 

Carlotta  [after  a  momenfs  hesitations^.  Mr. 
Ispenlove,  will  you  come  in  again  later  on — say 
in  an  hour — a  couple  of  hours — before  dinner? 

Ispenlove.     But 

Carlotta  [firmlyl.     If  you  wouldn't  mind. 

Ispenlove  [weakly'].     Certainly,  Miss  Peel. 

Carlotta  [with  a  bright  smile].  Au  revoir, 
then. 

[Exit  Ispenlove,  in  silence,  r.] 

Carlotta  [sharply.]  Now,  Emmeline,  what  on 
earth  is  the  matter  ? 


66       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Miss  Palmer.  Mrs.  Ispenlove  is  here.  She 
came  straight  to  the  boudoir. 

Carlotta  \_startled^.  But  Mrs.  Ispenlove  left 
not  long  since. 

Miss  Palmer  \^still  very  calmlyl.  She's  come 
back.  And  she  wants  to  see  you  alone.  She 
wouldn't  rest  till  I  came  in  to  see  whether  they'd 
all  gone.     I  don't  know  what  it  is. 

Carlotta  [going  to  the  door,  l.]     Is  that  you, 
]\Irs.   Ispenlove  ?     Please   do   come  in.      I'm   all 
alone. 
[Enter  Mrs.  Ispenlove,  l.     Exit  Miss  Palmer,  l.] 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  Carlotta!  [Carlotta  makes 
no  reply. '\  Here  I  am  disturbing  you!  I  hoped 
you'd  be  alone  when  I  called  before.  I  couldn't 
help  trying  again.    No  one  will  come  in? 

Carlotta  [sootliingly~\.  We  won't  let  anyone 
come  in.  Do  sit  down.  Here,  smell  this.  [Hands 
her  a  Mackenzie  smelling  bottle.     They  both  sit.'\ 

Mrs,  Ispenlove.  You're  very  kind.  I  need 
kindness.     That's  why  I  came. 

Carlotta.     Tell  me — what  can  I  do? 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  You  can't  do  anything,  my 
dear.  Only  I  was  obliged  to  talk  to  some  one, 
after  all  the  night.    It's  about  Frank. 

Carlotta.     Mr.  Ispenlove ! 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  Yes.  He's  left  me — yester- 
day. He  hasn't  been  to  the  office.  I  had  a  sort 
of  idea  I  might  see  him  here,  but  I  might  have 
known    he    wouldn't   be    at    any   place    where    I 


ACT  n  67 

should  be  likely  to  go.  [Pause.  Carlotta  says 
notliing.'\  I  agree  there's  nothing  to  be  said. 
But  I  do  want  you  to  understand.  You  can't 
understand  unless  I  begin  a  long  time  ago.  Oh, 
Carlotta !  How  beautiful  you  are — like  that ! 
You're  so  young!  It's  over  twenty  years  since 
I  fell  in  love. 

Carlotta.     With— Frank? 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  No.  With  another  man. 
He  was  a  young  barrister,  just  starting.  I  was 
living  with  m}''  father;  my  mother  was  dead.  I 
think  everybody  knew  I  had  fallen  in  love  with 
him.  I'm  sure  he  did.  We  saw  a  lot  of  each 
other.  Some  people  even  said  it  was  a  match, 
and  that  I  was  throwing  myself  away,  because 
father  had  money.  Fancy  throwing  myself  away 
— me!  Then  I  met  Frank — Frank  was  younger 
than  me — and  Frank  went  mad  about  me,  and 
he  had  father  on  his  side.  I  wouldn't  listen.  I 
didn't  give  him  a  chance  to  say  anything.  This 
state  of  things  went  on  for  a  long  time.  It  wasn't 
my  fault.     It  wasn't  anybody's  fault. 

Carlotta.     Just  so. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  The  man  I  was  in  love  with 
came  nearer.  He  was  decidedly  tempted.  I 
thought  I  was  sure  of  him.  All  I  wanted  was  to 
be  his  wife — whether  he  loved  me  much  or  little. 
Then  he  drew  away,  scarcely  ever  came  to  the 
house.  And  then  one  day  I  saw  a  paragraph  in 
the  Morning  Post  saying  he  was  going  to  marry 


68   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

a  woman  of  title,  a  widow  and  the  daughter  of  a 
peer.  He'd  done  it  to  get  on.  She  was  nearly 
twice  his  age. 

Carlotta.     What  a  shame! 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  Ah,  my  dear!  I  couldn't 
blame  him.  He  didn't  love  me.  But  he  nearly 
killed  me. 

Carlotta.     And  then.^* 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  Frank  was  so  persevering. 
And  I  couldn't  help  admiring  Frank's  character. 
What  woman  could?  I  refused  him,  and  then  I 
married  him.  He  was  as  mad  for  me  as  I  was 
mad  for  the  other  one.  .  .  .  But  I  couldn't  forget 
the  other  one,  and  Frank  knew  all  about  him, 
of  course.  He  was  never  mentioned  between  us, 
but  he  was  always  there — always,  always — every 
day  of  the  fifteen  years  of  our  marriage.  We  did 
our  best,  but  it  was  no  use.  We  were  helpless, 
Frank  and  I,  because  you  know  we  aren't  the  sort 
of  people  to  go  and  make  a  scandal — at  least,  that 
was  what  I  thouglit.  I  know  differently  now. 
Well,  he  died  the  day  before  yesterday. 

Carlotta.     Who? 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  The  other  one.  Cramp- 
horne.  He'd  just  been  made  a  judge.  He  was 
the  youngest  judge  on  the  Bench. 

Carlotta  [^with  an  inflection  of  disdavn  and 
surpjisel.    Was  that  tlie  man? 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  [nods'].  Frank  came  in  yes- 
terday for  lunch,  and  after  he'd  glanced  at  the 


ACT  II  69 

paper  he  said,  "By  the  way,  Cramphorne's  dead." 
Just  like  that.  I  didn't  grasp  it.  Frank  re-* 
peated:  "Cramphorne — he's  dead."  I  burst  into 
tears.  I  tried  to  stop  crying,  but  I  couldn't.  I 
sobbed.  Frank  was  furious.  He  said,  "I  know 
you've  always  been  in  love  with  the  brute,  but 
you  needn't  make  such  a  damn  fuss  over  him!" 
That  made  me  angry.  We  had  a  scene.  We 
both  lost  our  tempers.  Oh,  it  was  terrible!  One 
of  the  servants  came  in —  [^A  pause.'\ 

Carlotta.     Yes? 

Mrs.  Ispenloveii  Nothing[.  He's  left  me. 
He  didn't  come  home  last  night.  He  said  he'd 
never  enter  the  house  again,  and  he  won't. 

Carlotta.  Then  you  love  your  husband — 
now.?     [Pause.']     Do  3'ou?     Tell  me  honestly. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  Honestly?  Honestly?  No, 
if  I  loved  Frank  I  couldn't  have  been  so  upset 
about  Cramphorne.  But  we've  been  together  so 
long.  We're  husband  and  wife.  We  got  on 
pretty  well  considering — until  lately,  though  he 
hasn't  been  so  nice  this  last  six  months.  I  always 
tried  to  be  a  good  wife  to  him.  .  .  .  Think  of  the 
scandal!  A  separation  at  my  age.  It's  un- 
thinkable. .  .  .  Carlotta,  my  married  life  has 
been  awful — awful,  for  both  of  us.  But  we  hid 
it.     No  one  knew.  .  .  .  And  now 

Carlotta     I  knew. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  [^startled].   How  did  you  know? 

Carlotta.     Frank  told  me. 


70   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

» 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  \^paine(r\.  He'd  no  right  to  do 
so. 

Carlotta.  Yes,  he  had.  [On  an  impulse.^ 
Oh,  Mrs.  Ispenlove,  I'm  terribly  sorry,  but 
Frank's  in  love  with  me. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  He's —  \_Pause.'\  So  that's 
it!  l^Pause.^  And  I  never  guessed.  [^Slie  laughs 
and  rises.  Sarcastically.'\  Of  course  you  advised 
him  to  resist  temptation. 

Carlotta.     I  did. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.     Of  course! 

Carlotta.  He's  just  been  here.  I  sent  him 
away  so  that  I  could  see  you. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  [indignanf].  And  this  is  how 
you  tell  me!     [Moving  about.'] 

Carlotta  [appealingly].  How  was  I  to  tell 
you?  I  just  had  to  be  honest  with  you.  Do  try 
and  put  yourself  in  my  place  for  a  moment. 

Mrs.  Ispenlove.  In  your  place !  [She  stops 
in  front  of  the  photograph.']  I  suppose  you'll  hide 
that  now — or  burn  it. 

Carlotta.     What  do  you  mean? 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  [losing  control  of  herself;  with 
an  angry  gesture  towards  the  photograph  of 
Diaz.]  He  was  your  first !  Do  you  think  I  never 
guessed?  I've  seen  it  plain  on  your  face  time 
after  time.  Why  else  do  you  keep  it  there?  I 
always  knew  you  were  a  bad  woman.  Anybody 
can  see  what  you  are  in  every  line  you  write.  .  .  . 
I  expect  it  was  you  who  drove  him  to  morphine. 


ACT  II  71 

[She  picTcs  up  the  photograph  idly,  and  then  drops 
it  flat  on  the  piano.^ 
Carlotta.     Morphine?    Who? 
Mrs.  Ispenlove.       Why !       Diaz.       Didn't  you 
know  that  if  he  doesn't  play  any  more  nowadays 
it's    because    he's    a    hopeless    morphinomaniac? 
Don't  tell  me  ! 

Carlotta.     How  do  you  know  he's  a 

Mrs.  Ispenlove  \_resuming  control  of  herself). 
I  know  because  I  saw  him  myself  at  the  Grand 
Hotel  when  I  went  to  Paris  with  Frank  last 
month  for  the  Copyright  Congress.  He's  living 
there — unless  they've  turned  him  out.  All  Paris 
knew  about  him,  and  he  hadn't  a  friend — ■ 
naturally.  Not  a  friend!  Good  afternoon,  Miss 
Peel.  [BreaMng  down  near  the  door.~\  Oh,  Car- 
lotta !  You'll  regret  this !  What  have  I  got  to 
live  for?  \_Exit  r.] 

[Carlotta  goes  to  the  piano,  looks  at  the  photo- 
graph as  it  lies,  and  sets  it  upright  again 
on  the  piano.     Next  she  goes  to  the  writing- 
desk  and  sits  down  and  takes  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper.     Then,  after  an  impatient  movement, 
rises  and  goes  to  door  l.,  and  opens  it.^ 
Carlotta.     Emmeline,  where's  my  pen?     Bring 
it  me,  please.     [She  resumes  seat  at  desk."] 
[Enter  Miss  Palmer  with  pen.'\ 
Carlotta  [taking  pen^.      Thanks.      .That's  all. 
[Exit  Miss  Palmer,  at  hack.    Carlotta,  after  hesi- 
tations, writes.     Enter  Ispenlove.^ 


72       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Ispenlove  [^disturbing  Carlotta~\.  You  are  free 
now?  .   .   .  Miss  Palmer  told  me  I  might  come  in. 

Carlotta  [starting  wp].  Is  this  your  idea  of 
an  hour — two  hours? 

Ispenlove  [excited~\.  Carlotta,  I  came  back  to 
tell  you — we  ought  to  leave  London  to-night. 
We  must  leave  to-night.  More  delay  would  kill 
me.  Never  mind  packing.  Let's  catch  the  8.40 
train  at  Victoria.  I  shall  have  no  rest  till  we're 
on  our  way. 

Carlotta  [as  if  dazed"].     Train?    W^hat  train? 

Ispenlove.  For  Paris,  of  course.  I  can  easily 
arrange  my  business  from  there. 

Carlotta  ["with  emotion].     Paris! 

Ispenlove.     After  Paris — anj^where  you  like. 

Carlotta.     I  was  just  writing  to  you. 

Ispenlove.     Writing?    But  why? 

Carlotta  [handing  him  the  notepaper].  I  didn't 
intend   to   see   you   again.  .  .  .  Read  what   I've 
written. 
[Ispenlove  reads.   A  pause.   Carlotta  sits  down.] 

Ispenlove  [dropping  the  paper  on  a  chair.] 
But  this  is  a  repetition  of  what  you  said  to  me 
when  I  went  out  just  now. 

Carlotta.     Yes. 

Ispenlove.  Then  you  were  serious — about 
me  going  back  to  my  wife,  and — and  about 
showing  fortitude  and  all  that  sort  of  thing? 
You  really  meant  it? 

Carlotta.     I  did. 


ACT  II  73 

Ispenlove  [in  despair'].  You  don't  love  me — 
never  did!  You  were  only  sorry  for  me — when 
you  let  me  kiss  you.  If  you'd  been  in  love  you'd 
never  have  talked  about  love  being  an  illusion. 
You  simply  couldn't.  I  might  have  known.  I 
did  know — all  the  time.    You  don't  love  me. 

Carlotta.  Frank,  I'm  awfully  fond  of  you. 
I  am,  really.  .  .  .  It's  terrible  to  me  to  see  you 
like  this.     But 

Ispenlove.  I  don't  care  whether  you  love  me 
or  whether  you  don't  love  me.  I'll  be  satisfied 
with  pity  if  I  can't  get  anything  else.  Have  pity 
on  me !  .  .  .  No !  You  won't.  You  won't. 
You'll  never  change  your  mind.    I  know  you. 

Carlotta.  I  can't  go  with  you.  It  wouldn't 
be  right.     It  would  be  worse  than  anything. 

Ispenlove.  You're  thinking  of  your  reputa- 
tion. 

Carlotta  [^with  an  outhurst].  My  reputation? 
Me.''     [Calming  herself.]     And  supposing  I  am.'' 

Ispenlove.     Well,  this  is  the  end  for  me. 

Carlotta.     No,  no! 

Ispenlove.  Do  you  know  what  I  decided 
when  I  first  came  here  this  afternoon  ?  I  decided 
that  if  you  refused  me,  if  you  even  judged  me,  I 
should  go  to  the  office  and  shoot  myself. 

Carlotta.     But  you  won't. 

Ispenlove.  I  shall.  There's  nothing  else  for 
it. 


74   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta.  You  ought  not  to  talk  like  that. 
It's  not  fair,  and  it  won't  do  any  good. 

Ispenlove.  I  know  it's  not  fair,  and  I  know 
it  won't  do  any  good.  .  .  .  But  that's  the  point 
I've  got  to. 

[/w  silence  he  moves   towards  the  door.     Enter 
Miss  Palmer  quicMy,  l.] 

Miss  Palmer  [calmhj'].  Oh,  Mr.  Ispenlove! 
Please  come!  It's  a  policeman.  Mrs.  Ispen- 
love's  been  under  a  motor-bus.  She  ran  right  in 
front  of  it,  the  policeman  says.  She  must  have 
lost  her  head.  The  'bus  knocked  her  down,  but 
the  wheels  didn't  touch  her,  and  she's  not  hurt. 
They've  got  her  at  the  chemist's  round  the  corner. 
Our  hall-porter  saw  the  croAvd  and  went  along, 
and  he  knew  Mrs.  Ispenlove  had  just  been  here. 
Please  do  come  at  once.  [Ispenlove  makes  no 
reply. '\ 

Carlotta.  Run  and  teU  the  policeman  Mr. 
Ispenlove  will  come  instantly.    Run ! 

[Exit  Miss  Palmer,  r.     A  pause."] 

Ispenlove  \_quicliy'\.  Then  it  was  my  wife  who 
persuaded  you  to  throw  me  over? 

Carlotta.  Frank,  you  must  have  pity — on 
both  of  us.  Go  and  take  her  home.  She's  tried 
to  kill  herself — and  failed.  [Ispenlove  starts.'] 
You  were  in  love  with  her  when  I  was  a  girl  at 
school.  She  was  everything  to  you  once,  and  she 
is  still  alive.    Good-bye. 

Ispenlove  [at  the  door,  bitterly].    You  let  me 


ACT  II  75 

kiss  you — and  then  you  thought  of  your  precious 
reputation. 

[Carlotta  drops  her  head.  Exit  Ispenlove,  b. 
Carlotta  takes  up  the  photograph  again  and 
hisses  it.     Enter  Miss  Palmer,  r.] 

Miss  Palmer.  Oh,  Miss  Peel!  What  a  mercy 
she  wasn't  hurt ! 

Carlotta.     You're  sure  she  isn't? 

Miss  Palmer.  The  hall-porter  says  she  was 
sitting  on  a  chair  in  the  chemist's  shop  and  cry- 
ing.   The  reaction,  I  suppose. 

Carlotta.     I  have  to  go  to  Paris  to-night. 

Miss  Palmer.     To-night.'' 

Carlotta.     Yes. 

Miss  Palmer.     Alone.'' 

Carlotta.     Yes. 

CUETAIN. 


ACT  III 

The  salon  of  a  furnished  flat  in  a  dubious  street 
of  Paris.  Doors  back  and  r.  The  former 
almost  wide  open,  showing  a  little  entrance- 
hall  with  the  front  door  of  the  flat.  The 
door  E.  leads  to  a  bedroom.  The  window  is 
not  seen.  The  furniture  is  pretentious  and 
ugly,  and  shows  signs  of  wear.  A  table  in  the 
middle.  A  man's  hat  hangs  behind  the  inner 
door.    The  scene  must  be  set  shallow. 

Time  :    Early  afternoon. 
Two  days  have  elapsed. 

[Diaz  is  alone,  wandering  abotit  the  room.  There 
is  a  ring  at  the  front  door.  He  goes  into  the 
ante-chamber,  opens  the  front  door  cau- 
tiously, and  lets  in  Carlotta.  He  then  shuts 
the  front  door  with  a  mysterious  and  deter- 
mined air.  He  motions  Carlotta  to  enter  the 
room.  She  obeys,  apprehensive.  He  follows 
her,  and  shuts  the  inner  door.^ 

Carlotta  \_with  ingratiating  softness  of  tone, 
looking  around^.  Then  it  is  you!  [She  holds 
out  her  hand."] 

Diaz  [inimically'\.  Oh!  So  you're  English,  are 
you? 

77 


78   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta  [^overpowered'].     Don't  you  remember 

me? 

Diaz.     Who  the  devil  are  you? 

Carlotta.     I'm  Magdalen. 

Diaz.  Magdalen!  Magdalen!  [LaMgr7i5.j 
Which  one,  I  wonder. 

Carlotta  [tcealdy,  after  a  pause'].  Don't  you 
remember  that  night  after  the  concert? 

Diaz.  After  the  concert!  After  the  concert! 
You  might  think  I'd  given  only  one  concert  in 
my  life.  What  do  you  want  here?  What  did 
you  come  for? 

Carlotta.     I  came — to  see  you. 

Diaz.     Well,  you  see  me.    What  else? 

Carlotta.  I  thought  you'd  like  to  meet  me 
again.  I  thouglit  you  were  lonely  and  I  might — 
help  you — somehow. 

Diaz.     Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?    Well,  sit  down. 
[She  sits.    Diaz  remains  standing.]     I'm  just  in 
the  mood  to  talk  to  people  like  you.     How  did 
you  get  my  address? 

Carlotta.     I 

Diaz.  Now  answer  me.  How  did  you  get  my 
address?    Did  you  get  it  from  the  Grand  Hotel? 

Carlotta.     Yes. 

Diaz. — And  I  suppose  they  told  you  they'd 
turned  me  out? 

Carlotta.     They  said 

Diaz.  Did  they  tell  you  they'd  turned  me  out 
— or  didn't  they? 


ACT  III  79 

Caflotta.  They  said  they'd  suggested  that 
you  might  prefer  a  private  lodging. 

Diaz.  It's  a  lie.  They  didn't  suggest  any 
such  thing.  On  the  contrary,  when  I  informed 
them  I  wouldn't  stand  their  awful  hotel  a  day 
longer,  they  begged  me  to  stay  on.  Of  course  it's 
simply  a  fortune  to  any  hotel  to  have  Emilio  Diaz 
among  its  guests.  I  left  because  I  chose  to  leave. 
Now  you  may  think  that  this  isn't  much  of  a 
place.  You  may  think,  for  example,  that  this 
room  isn't  furnished  in  the  best  taste.  But  I  like 
it,  and  what's  it  got  to  do  with  you,  after  all? 
When  I  want  your  opinions  I'll  ask  for  them. 
This  place  was  offered  to  me  by  a  kind  friend. 
You'd  probably  sniff  at  her.  But  she  never  asks 
me  for  money  and  she's  the  one  friend  that 
remains.  She  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  the 
persecution.  ...  At  least  I  think  she  hasn't.  I 
can't  be  absolutely  sure. 

Carlotta.     Persecution?     What  do  you  mean? 

Diaz.  Good !  Good !  That's  pretty  fair  act- 
ing. So  you'll  make  out  you  didn't  know  I  was 
being  persecuted  ? 

Carlotta.     I  certainly  hadn't  the  slightest  idea. 

Diaz  [^sneeringly^.  Naturally  you  hadn't! 
Therefore  I'll  give  you  a  few  interesting  details. 
You're  no  doubt  aware  that  I'm  what's  called  a 
morphinomaniac.  .  .  .  Speak  up !  Speak  up ! 
.  ,  .  Never  heard  the  word  morphine  mentioned 
in  connection  with  me?     Yes  or  no? 


80       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta.     Yes. 

Diaz.  Ah!  I  knew  I  should  drag  it  out  of 
you!  [Tr$i7^  violent  and  positive  sincerity.^ 
Well,  it's  a  disgraceful  slander!  A  disgraceful 
slander !  I  was  very  ill  a  long  time  ago,  and  after 
my  illness  I  did  take  a  little  morphine,  strictly 
under  doctor's  orders.  But  I've  taken  none  for 
years.  None!  Do  you  understand  me?  Not  a 
solitary  injection!  I've  been  suffering  from  neu- 
rasthenia— pure  nervous  debility.  And  how  was 
that  brought  on.  [^Quietly.^  It  was  broujLfht  on 
partly  of  course  by  overwork.  The  whole  world 
knows  how  I  have  worked.  \_Loudly.'\  l3ut  it 
was  brought  on  much  more  by  this  persecution, 
this  damnable  plot  against  me. 

Carlotta.     But  who —  ? 

Diaz  \_stopping  her;  mysteriously^.  All!  .  .  . 
Ah !  .  .  .  I  know  him !  I've  traced  him !  Prac- 
tically, my  evidence  is  complete.  Anyhow,  it  will 
be,  to-morrow — or  next  week  at  latest.  I  have 
him.  .  .  .  You  guess  his  motive.  Who  wouldn't.'' 
Professional  jealousy,  of  course!  He  was  afraid. 
His  audiences  were  lessening,  lessening.  He  was 
never  a  first-class  pianist,  but  he  was  a  first-class 
scoundrel — that  I'll  admit.  He  got  hold  of  the 
fact  that  I  used  to  take  a  little  morphine.  And 
on  that  he  built  everything.  First  he  bribed  the 
critics.  There  was  a  most  remarkable  change  in 
my  notices.  Then  audiences  began  to  fall  away. 
Then    it    was    the    concert    agents    who    turned 


ACT  ni  81 

against  me.  Every  one  of  'em.  Then  I  couldn't 
even  hire  a  hall.  Think  of  it!  Couldn't  even 
hire  a  hall !  Me !  Then  he  actually  got  me 
thrown  out  of  the  Grand  Hotel.  That  was  the 
climax.  .  .  .  But  my  neurasthenia  is  rapidly 
disappearing.  I'm  much  better.  I'm  much 
stronger.    Do  I  look  neurasthenic.'' 

Carlotta.     No !    You  look  quite  strong. 

Diaz.     Don't  I  look  like  a  master.? 

Carlotta.     Yes. 

Diaz  \imperiously~\.  Master  of  what?  Master 
of  what-f*     Say  it! 

Carlotta.     Master  of  the  piano. 

Diaz.  Ah!  .  .  .  And  yet  you're  only  acting, 
miss.  I  can  see  through  you.  You — and  your 
employer.  You  imagine  you're  very  clever,  very 
subtle.  But  I've  twigged  the  game.  He  knows 
I'm  getting  better  of  my  neurasthenia.  And  he's 
afraid,  he's  trembling  once  more.  There's  a  new 
plot  brewing,  and  he's  sent  you  here  to  spy  out 
the  land.  I  was  sure  of  it  the  moment  you  came 
into  the  room. 

Carlotta  \^rising~\.  Please,  please  don't  think 
such  a  thing. 

Diaz.  Sit  down !  Sit  down,  I  tell  you !  \^She 
sits.  Calmly. '[  Why,  you  silly  woman,  can't 
you  see  I've  been  playing  with  you?  You're  not 
really  causing*  me  the  faintest  anxiety.  Do 
you  suppose  I  should  have  confided  to  you  all 
these  secrets  if  I  hadn't  made  up  my  mind  in 


82       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

advance  to  kill  you?     [IFif/i  excitement.']     You 
little  thouglit 

Carlotta.     Kill  me? 

Diaz  l^taking  a  revolver  from  the  drawer].  Cer- 
tainly. What  else  is  there  for  me  to  do?  .  .  . 
No,  sit  down.     Don't  move. 

Carlotta.  I  shan't  move.  But  please  re- 
flect  

Diaz  '[^gloatingly'].     You're  frightened. 

Carlotta.  I'm  not.  But  I've  been  the  cause 
of  a  great  deal  of  unhappiness,  and  I  don't  want 
to  be  the  cause  of  any  more. 

Diaz.     You  won't  be. 

Carlotta.  I  shall  if  you  shoot  me.  Just  think 
what  it  will  mean  for  you — please! 

Diaz.  Clever!  Clever!  But  it  won't  help 
you,  Magdalen !  .  .  .  [As  if  recollecting.]  Mag- 
dalen?    Magdalen?     The  mail-train. 

Carlotta  [rising  suddenly].     Emilio  ! 
[Diaz  shoots  and  misses  her.      The  bullet  breaks 
an  ornament  behind.] 

Diaz  [rushing  away].  I  didn't  mean  to  shoot! 
I  didn't  mean  to  shoot!  [Exit,  r.] 

[Carlotta  looks  round  at  what  is  smashed.  Her 
emotion  is  obvious,  and  she  does  not  know 
what  to  do  next.  Enter  Rosalie,  back,  sud- 
denly, in  a  state  of  excitement.] 

Rosalie.  Mais  qu'est  ce  quHl  y  a  done?  Qu'est 
ce  qu'il  y  a  .  .  .  madame? 

Carlotta.     Er — nothing,  I  think. 


ACT  III  83 

Rosalie  \^calmer'].    Ah!    Madame  is  English. 

Carlotta.     Yes,  madame. 

Rosalie.  I  imagined  to  myself  I  did  hear  a 
revolver. 

Carlotta.  Yes,  madame.  It  went  off  by 
accident.  You  see  what  it  broke.  Monsieur 
Diaz —     You  know  Monsieur  Diaz,  madame.'* 

Rosalie.  Do  I  know  him,  madame?  We  are 
good  friends — we  are  the  best  friends,  since  a 
long  time.  In  my  flat,  Monsieur  Diaz  is  at 
home.  And  I  am  at  home  in  his.  What  would 
you? 

Carlotta  [^cautiouslyl.  Monsieur  Diaz  has  just 
gone  into  the  next  room,  madame. 

Rosalie.  All !  When  he  returns  he  will  be 
better. 

Carlotta.     What  do  you  mean,  madame? 

Rosalie.  Madame  is  without  doubt  an  ac- 
quaintance of  Monsieur's? 

Carlotta.  Yes,  I  am.  But  I  hadn't  seen  him 
for  many  years. 

Rosalie.  Without  indiscretion,  madame,  one 
may  speak  freely? 

Carlotta.     Certainly,  madame. 

Rosalie.  Madame,  you  have  been  seriously 
agitated.  That  sees  itself.  I  suppose,  therefore, 
that  you  were  some  little  surprised  by  the 
condition  of  Monsieur  Diaz.  You  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  arrive  at  the  hour  of  one  of  his 
paroxysms. 


84   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta.     Paroxysms?     What 


Rosalie.  You  have  not  heard  madame? 
He — il  se  inque.  He  gives  himself  injections. 
He  is  giving  himself  an  injection  now — at  this 
moment.     He  is  morphinomane. 

Carlotta.     But  he  assured  me 

Rosalie.  Naturally !  They  all  do  that.  It 
is  I  who  tell  it  to  you.  And  God  knows  if  I  have 
not  met  a  few  of  them  in  my  life!  It  is  a  pity, 
eh?  But  what  would  you?  We  all  have  some- 
thing. I,  for  example,  I  am  not  morphinomane. 
I  have  a  health  of  iron.  Never  a  pain.  I  drink, 
so  to  speak,  nothing.  I  have  money.  I  am  still 
young.  But  I  am  mad.  I  recognise  it.  I  am 
mad.  Well,  Monsieur  Diaz — he  pricks  himself 
with  morphine.  It  is  an  amiable  vice,  except 
on  the  bad  days.  Never  have  I  encountered 
a  man  with  so  much  charm,  so  much  heart,  and 
so  distinguished!  True,  the  morphine  will  kill 
him.    But  we  shall  all  die.    What  would  you? 

Carlotta  [^warjnly^.    But  he  can  be  cured! 

Rosalie  [tcif/i  tranquillity^.  No,  madame.  Be- 
hold a  little  malady  that  cures  itself  never. 

Carlotta  \^still  more  warmly'\.  But  he  must  be 
cured ! 

Rosalie  [nonchalantly. '\  As  you  please, 
madame.  .  .  .  Shall  I  go  and  see —  \^Vith  a 
gesture  towards  the  door,  r.] 

Carlotta.    Just  a  moment,  madame. 

Rosalie.     With  pleasure,  madame. 


ACT  ni  85 

Carlotta.     He  lives  here  quite  alone? 

Rosalie.     Quite  alone. 

Carlotta.     But  he  has  a  servant? 

Rosalie.  IMadame,  he  shares  my  charwoman. 
She  comes  here  from  ten  to  twelve.  Then  to  my 
flat  from  twelve  to  three.  You  see  that  in  my 
vocation  it  is  impossible  to  rise  early.  I  hide 
nothing  from  you,  madame.  Besides  everybody 
knows  it.  It  is  I  who  found  this  furnished  flat 
for  Monsieur  Diaz.  My  flat  is  on  the  same  floor. 
It  is  all  that  is  most  convenient. 

Carlotta.     But  his  meals! 

Rosalie.  His  meals?  Let  us  see.  His  petit 
dejeuner,  he  takes  it  in  bed — when  he  takes  it. 
For  the  rest,  he  goes  to  a  cafe-restaurant.  Or 
sometimes  he  takes  lunch  in  my  flat  with  jNIadame 
Leonie  and  me.  Leonie  is  my  very  dear  friend, 
whom  I  love  much.  She  has  a  room  in  my  flat. 
When  INIonsieur  Diaz  comes,  we  are  quite  gay,  we 
three,  but  in  an  intimate  fashion.  I  have  a 
beautiful  pianola,  with  the  best  rolls — everything 
that  is  latest  in  waltzes.  I  adore  the  waltz, 
above  all,  the  new  varieties —  Ah!  English 
musical  comedy !  I  am  mad  about  it.  There  is 
nothing  to  compare  with  it.  I  always  play  the 
pianola  for  Diaz. 

Carlotta.  But  you  knew  that  Monsieur  Diaz 
was  a  very  celebrated  pianist ! 

Rosalie  {nonclialantly'\.  Truly?  I  had  per- 
haps heard  something  about  it.     Indeed,  it  seems 


86   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

to  me  that  I  remember,  wlien  I  was  young,  I 
remember  to  see  his  name  once  on  a  street 
advertisement  of  a  classical  concert.  But,  you 
know,  the  classical  concert — that  is  not  my  kind. 
My  business  is  at  the  music-hall.  Marigny 
Theatre  in  summer.  Folies-Bergere  in  winter.  I 
have  no  time  for  amusements. 

Carlotta.  But  your  friends — did  they  never 
tell  you,  madame? 

Rosalie.  Madame,  I  have  many  friends,  be- 
cause I  am  a  good  girl  and  everybody  knows  it. 
But  I  have  never  said  the  name  of  Diaz  to  my 
friends. 

Carlotta.     Why  not,  madame? 

Rosalie  \_with  a  slight  trace  of  resentment^.  He 
asked  me  never  to  say  his  name.  And  one  can 
count  on  me. 

Carlotta.     And  nobody  comes  to  see  him.'' 

Rosalie.  Madame,  you  are  the  first.  You 
see,  this  street — shall  we  say-f* — repels. 

Carlotta.  But  how  can  you  tell,  madame,  thai^ 
I  am  the  first?   }[She  begins  to  take  off  her  gloves.^ 

Rosalie  [with  more  resentment. '\  I  am  at  home 
all  day,  madame. 

Carlotta.     But  at  night? 

Rosalie  \impatiently'\.  Ah!  At  night,  natu- 
rally I  am  not  at  home.  I  go  to  my  regular 
music-hall.  It  is  my  existence.  I  am  not  like 
the  others.  I  am  a  serious  girl.  Is  not  my 
English  very  good?      Do   not  my  friends   make 


ACT  ni  87 

me  compliments  every  night  on  my  English? 
As  I  say,  I  cannot  answer  for  the  evenings  of 
Monsieur  Diaz.  If  you  insist —  \^With  a  sudden 
change  to  extreme  benevolence  as  Carlotta  uncov- 
ers her  left  hand. ^  Ah!  madame — mademoiselle. 
I  ask  pardon.  I  perceive  that  mademoiselle  has 
no  ring.    How  content  I  am! 

Carlotta.     But  why.^ 

Rosalie,  Ah,  mademoiselle !  In  our  profession 
it  is  the  married  women  whom  we  have  the  best 
reason  to  fear.  .  .  .  How  content  I  am !  mademoi- 
selle, you  will  pardon  to  me  my  mistake.  I  am 
perhaps  too  frank.  I  speak  too  much.  That  is 
my  defect. 

Carlotta.  You  have  been  most  kind,  madame. 
It  is  I  who  have  been  indiscreet.  Will  you  tell 
me  one  more  thing?  Monsieur  Diaz  never  leaves 
here  ? 

Rosalie.  He  has  not — up  to  now.  Why 
should  he?  One  is  very  well  here.  There  is  a 
balcony.  True,  in  the  great  heats  Paris  is 
enervating.  But  Monsieur  Diaz  has  not  yet 
experienced  the  great  heats.  For  myself,  I  never 
leave  Paris. 

Carlotta.     Really ! 

Rosalie.  Except  to  see  my  little  boy — and  that 
is  only  in  the  suburbs. 

Carlotta.     So  you  have  a  little  boy? 

Rosalie.  Yes,  he  lives  with  my  parents  at 
Meudon.     He  is  four  years  old. 


88       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta.     You  are  very  fond  of  him? 

Rosalie.  Fond !  I  adore  him !  And  he  loves 
me  too.  If  he  is  nauglity,  one  has  only  to  tell 
him  that  he  will  make  his  leetle  mummy  ill,  and 
he  will  be  good  at  once.  When  one  tells  him  to 
obey  his  grandfather  because  his  grandfather 
provides  him  with  food,  he  says  bravely:  "No, 
not  grandfather;  it  is  leetle  mummy."  Is  it  not 
strange  he  should  know  that  I  pay  for  him? 

Carlotta.  How  nice!  And  you  see  him 
often  ? 

Rosalie.  No.  Only  once  a  month.  I  take  him 
for  a  promenade.  I  run  with  him  till  we  reach 
the  woods,  where  I  can  have  him  to  myself,  alone. 
I  avoid  people.  Nobody  except  my  parents  know 
that  he  is  my  child.  One  supposes  that  he  is  a 
nurse-child,  received  by  my  parents.  But  all  the 
world  will  know  now.  Sunday  last  I  went  to  Meu- 
don  with  Leonie.  Leonie  wislied  to  buy  him  some 
sweets  at  the  grocer's.  In  the  shop  I  asked  him  if 
he  would  like  peppermints.  "Yes,"  he  answered. 
"Yes,  who,  young  man?"  the  grocer  corrected  him. 
"Yes,  leetle  mummy,"  he  replied  loudly  and 
bravely.  The  grocer  understood.  We  all  low- 
ered our  heads.  .  .  .  You,  naturally,  have  no 
child,  mademoiselle? 

Carlotta. — No.     How  I  envy  you? 

Rosalie.  You  must  not.  I  have  been  so  un- 
happy that  I  can  never  be  as  unhappy  again. 
Nothing   matters   now.      All   I   wish   is   to    save 


ACT  ni  89 

enough  money   to   be   able   to   live   quietly  in   a 
little  house  in  the  country. 

Carlotta.     With  your  child. 

Rosalie.  My  child  will  grow  up  and  leave  me. 
He  will  become  a  man  and  forget  his  leetle 
mummy. 

Carlotta.     Don't  talk  like  that. 

Rosalie  \_roughl7/'].  Wh}'^  not?  Is  it  not  true, 
then?  Do  you  believe  there  Is  a  difference 
between  one  man  and  another?  They  are  all 
alike — all,  all,  all! 

Carlotta.  But  surely  you  have  some  tender 
souvenir  of  your  child's  father. 

Rosalie.  Do  I  know  who  is  my  child's 
father?  .  .  .  {^Controlling  herself  and  smiling 
lightly.']  But  there!  What  would  you.  While 
hating  all  these  gentlemen,  we  love  them.  They 
are  beasts !  Beasts !  But  we  cannot  do  without 
them.      What     would    you?      [7w    a   low   voice, 

moving  towards  door,  r.]     Now  I  will  see 

[Enter  Leonie,  hach.] 

Leonie  {at  the  door,  in  a  confidential  whisper,  to 
Rosalie].    Monsieur  Chirac. 

Rosalie.  Monsieur  Chirac.  Je  men  fiche. 
Tell  him  to  go. 

Leonie.     It  is  the  nephew,  not  the  uncle. 

Rosalie.  Ah!  In  that  case,  I  come  at  once. 
Mademoiselle!     {She  bows.] 

{Exeunt  Rosalie  and  Leonie,  back.^ 


90        SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

\^Carlotta  moves  about,  examining  the  room.'\ 
\_Enter  Diaz,  r.] 

Diar:  [now  quite  calm  and  master  of  himself, 
but  nsrvous^.     You  are  not  gone,  then? 

Carlotta  [cheerfully  and  naturally^.  I  was 
just  wondering  how  long  you'd  leave  me  by 
myself. 

Diaz  [very  gloomily^.  What  are  you  going  to 
say  to  me? 

Carlotta.     What  about? 

Diaz  [picking  up  part  of  the  broken  articlel^.  I 
nearly  killed  you. 

Carlotta.  Oh,  you  were  really  very  wide 
indeed.  Of  course  revolvers  are  dangerous.  The 
man  who  invented  them  was  extremely  ill- 
advised.  But  there  they  are,  and  sometimes,  I 
suppose,  they  will  insist  on  going  off  by  accident. 

Diaz.     Accident?    But  I  said  I  should  kill  you. 

Carlotta.     Did  you?    You  never  meant  it. 

Diaz  [with  emotionJi.    I  assure  you  I  didn't, 

Carlotta.     I  want  no  assurance. 

Diaz,  When  I  suddenly  began  to  remember 
who  you  were — it  came  over  me  all  at  once — I 
didn't  know  what  I  was  doing.  I  couldn't  even 
feel  the  revolver  in  my  hand. 

Carlotta.  What  was  it  made  you  remember 
me  in  the  end?     [She  sits.^ 

Diaz.  Ah !  Perhaps  it  was  your  carelessness 
about  yourself. 

Carlotta.     Carelessness  about  myself? 


ACT  III  91 

Diaz.  You  didn't  seem  to  mind  at  all  what 
the  consequences  would  be  to  you  if  I  shot  you. 
You  were  only  concerned  about  the  unpleasant 
results  to  me. 

Carlotta.  Don't  let's  talk  any  more  about 
that  accident.     It's  over. 

Diaz.     Why  did  you  come  to  see  me? 

Carlotta.  I've  told  you.  I  knew  you  were — 
lonely.  And  I  thought  perhaps  I  might  be  able 
to  help  you.  I  started  off  the  very  day  I  heard. 
You  see,  I  was  quite  free.  I'd  no  ties — no  ties 
whatever.  So  I  just  came  at  once — and  found 
you. 

Diaz.     It's  too  late. 

Carlotta.  It's  not  too  late  until  one  of  us  Is 
dead. 

Diaz.  Ah,  Magdalen,  what  made  you  run 
away  like  that — in  the  night.?  No  trace!  Noth- 
ing! It  was  terrible  for  me.  I  was  in  love 
with  you.  I  couldn't  believe  you'd  vanished 
altogether.  For  months  afterwards  I  expected  to 
hear  from  you.  But  not  a  word.  And  what 
could  I  do?  I  didn't  know  where  you  lived,  or 
even  your  name.  I  didn't  know  anything  about 
you  except  that  you  were  wonderful,  unique. 
Then  at  last  I  gave  up.   .   .  . 

Carlotta.  Forgive  me.  I  alone  was  the 
sinner.  I  had  too  much  pride  and  not  enough 
faith.  I  was  afraid  of  my  miracle.  I  was  a 
coward.     I  did  well  to  call  myself  Magdalen ! 


92       SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Diaz.  Then  that's  not  your  name?  I  always 
knew  it  wasn't.  Why  did  you  call  yourself 
Magdalen?  \_CarIotta  shakes  her  head  to  signify 
that  she  doesnt  hnow.'\     What  am  I  to  call  you? 

Carlotta.     My  name  is  Carlotta  Peel. 

Diaz  \^startled'\.     What!    Are  you —  \^Sto'ps.'\ 

Carlotta.  Oh,  no!  ...  At  least  not  for  you. 
Only  for  the  public.  Please  don't  speak  of  my 
books.  For  you  I  will  be  the  woman  and 
nothing  else.  I've  come  back — [with  meaning'\ 
exactly  as  I  left  you.  Forgive  me.  I  know  that 
everytliing  might  have  been  different  if  Pd  had 
faith.    But  forgive  me. 

Diaz  [springing  forward,  and  dropping  on  one 
knee  at  her  feet'\.  I?  Forgive  you?  Do  not 
destroy  me  with  your  generosity.  [Bares  his  arm 
and  shows  it  to  her.^    Look!    Look! 

Carlotta  [gazing  at  the  arvfi].  Have  you  hurt 
yourself  ? 

Diaz.  Yes,  I've  hurt  myself.  Those  are  the 
marks  of  the  morphine  needle.  .  .  .Wounds.  .  .  . 
Scores,  hundreds  of  them !  That's  the  latest. 
[Pointing.^  I  was  simply  telling  you  a  lie  when 
I  said  I  never  took  morphine.  See  this  room. 
This  is  where  I  live.  This  is  what  I've  come  to! 
I've  not  touched  a  piano  for  months.  I  have  no 
piano.  Think  how  I  received  you,  how  I  raved — 
yet  I  believed  every  word  while  I  was  saying  it. 
I  needn't  explain.  You  understand.  Look  at 
my  clothes !  Look  at  my  face !  Look  at  my 
ej^es !     I've  never  confessed  to   anybody  before. 


ACT  ni  93 

But  I  confess  to  you.  I  must.  I  wouldn't 
deceive  you.     I'm  the  result  of  morphine! 

Carlotta  [with  an  assisting  gesture,  persuading 
him  to  rise^.    It  was  not  your  fault. 

Diaz.  Wliat  do  you  mean — it  wasn't  my 
fault.''     l^He  sits.l 

Carlotta.  You  first  took  it  under  the  advice 
of  a  doctor,  after  you'd  been  very  ill. 

Diaz.  Do  you  remember  me  telling  you — that 
night.''  Yes,  that's  true  enough.  And  you  know, 
it's  a  wonderful  thing,  morphine  is.  The  effect 
of  it  is  almost  instantaneous.  A  single  prick, 
that's  all.  One  moment  you're  on  the  rack  and 
in  the  most  appalling  torture,  and  the  next 
moment  you're  off  the  rack  and  you  haven't  a 
pain  left,  and  you  feel  equal  to  anything.  It's  an 
absolutely  marvellous  thing. 

Carlotta.     Only  it  has  other  consequences. 

Diaz  l^reflectiveli.    Yes. 

Carlotta  [intimately^.  D'you  know — it's  very 
nice  of  you  to  talk  to  me  as  you  are  doing.  I  like 
it  awfully.  [Casually. '\  Now  what  I  don't  un- 
derstand is,  why  you  keep  on  taking  the  stuff.  I 
suppose  you  could  give  it  up  if  j^ou  wanted  to.^* 

Diaz  [with  assurance'\.  Of  course  I  could.  I 
could  give  it  up  to-morrow — any  time. 

Carlotta.     Then  why  don't  you."* 

Diaz  [judiciallyl.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  for  me 
to  give  it  up  would  be  a  mistake.  It's  necessary 
to  my  health,  and  when  I  say  health  I  include 
mental  health.     I  have  given  it   up  more  than 


94.   SACRED  AND  TROFANE  LOVE 

once.  But  I  have  been  obliged  to  take  to  It 
again.  When  you  came  to-day,  I  had  abstained 
for  a  long  time.  Think  of  the  state  I  was  in! 
Anything  might  have  happened  if  I  had  not  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  go  instantly  and  give 
myself  an  injection.  You  must  admit  there  was 
no  alternative. 

Carlotta.     I  won't  admit  it. 

Diaz.     That's  because  you're  a  woman. 

Carlotta  \^jirmly'\.  Yes,  it  is  because  I'm  a 
woman.  You  live  alone.  You've  always  lived 
alone.  It  has  been  morphine  or  nothing.  But  I 
am  here  now,  and  I  am  the  alternative.  I  will 
be  your  morphine.     [^Softly. '\     What  do  you  say? 

Diaz  [^after  a  pause,  hreaMng  down].  Don't! 
Don't !  I'm  telling  you  a  lie  when  I  say  I  can 
give  it  up.  It's  only  boasting.  I've  got  Crother's 
book  on  morphine.  I  know  it  by  heart.  I  know 
the  last  delusion  of  the  morphine-taker  is  that  he 
can  give  it  up  whenever  he  chooses.  I  can't  give 
it  up.  I've  failed  over  and  over  again.  I'm  the 
victim.  I'm  hopeless.  Thank  heaven  I  still 
have  money,  and  I  can  finish  my  life  in  comfort. 

Carlotta.  Then  if  you  won't  let  me  take  the 
place  of  your  morphine,  morphine  and  I  will  share 
you  between  us. 

Diaz.     What  do  you  mean,? 

Carlotta.  Just  that.  [^Stands.]  Will  you 
turn  me  out.'* 

Diaz.     You  don't  realise 

Carlotta.     Realise .?     I     perfectly     realise.       I 


ACT  III  95 

realise  I  left  jou  because  I  was  a  coward.  I 
realise  I've  come  back.  I  realise  that  once  you 
were  one  of  the  finest  artists  in  the  world,  and 
that  every  pleasure  and  every  delight  was  yours 
for  the  asking,  and  that  there  was  no  power 
greater  than  your  power.  \^With  restrained  scorn.^ 
And  I  realise  that  now  you're  a  victim;  you're 
broken;  you're  helpless;  you've  no  future.  In- 
stead of  exerting  power,  you're  a  slave,  and  your 
master  is  a  drug,  a  miserable  drop  of  something 
or  other  in  a  glass  tube.  I  realise  that  you'll  get 
worse  and  worse,  and  that  in  time  you'll  become 
almost  obscene.  I  realise  that  I  shall  have  to 
watch  all  this,  and  that  you'll  deceive  me  with 
odious  little  fibs  and  thumping  lies,  and  make  me 
frightfully  unhapp3%  and  iU-treat  me,  and  rave  at 
me,  and  make  horrid  accusations  against  me,  and 
I  realise  that  in  the  end  you'll  die  and  I  shall 
bury  you,  and  all  the  newspapers  will  remember 
you,  rather  contemptuously,  for  just  one  day, 
and  then  forget  you  forever.  That's  what  I 
realise.     Is  it  enough? 

Diaz.     Why  do  you  scorn  me? 

Carlotta.  I  don't  scorn  you.  You  scorn 
yourself.  I'm  only  showing  you  how  well  I 
reahse  what  that  self-scorn  will  lead  to. 

Diaz.     You're  an  angel,  but  3^ou're  a  devil  too. 

Carlotta.  I'm  neither  an  angel  nor  a  devil. 
I'm  the  girl  you  took  and  transformed  into  a 
woman.     You  said  you  loved  her. 

Diaz  Istill  seated'].     Magdalen,  go  away.     It's 


96   SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

no   use.     I    could   never  face   the   public   again. 

Carlotta.     And  why  not? 

Diaz.     People  would  laugh. 

Carlotta.  Nobod}^  would  laugh.  The  public 
is  the  faithfullcst  thing  on  earth.  You  were 
born  a  great  artist  and  you'll  always  be  one. 
You'll  die  a  great  artist  if  you  die  in  a  ditch.  The 
rest  is  nothing  but  practice.  You'll  say  you're 
out  of  practice.  Well,  you  would  get  into 
practice,  that's  all.  You'd  make  your  reappear- 
ance after  a  long  illness,  and  your  reappearance 
would  be  the  most  distinguished  musical  event 
that  ever  happened.  People  would  stand  out  in 
the  street  all  night  to  be  sure  of  hearing  you. 
When  you  came  on  to  the  platform  the  applause 
would  be  tremendous.  It  would  unnerve  you. 
But  you'd  get  over  that,  and  in  half  an  hour 
you'd  be — Diaz  again  ! 

iDiaz.  Ah!  But  the  months  and  months  and 
months  it  would  take.  And  in  the  meantime  I 
should  have  to  live.  Magdalen,  I've  not  come  to 
the  end  of  my  lying,  I  said  I  had  money.  I 
haven't.  It's  all  gone.  I've  come  to  the  end  of 
my  resources. 

Carlotta.     You  aren't  at  the  end  of  mine. 

Diaz.     I  couldn't  live  on  a  woman. 

Carlotta  [angrily'].  If  you  expect  me  to 
answer  that  sort  of  silly  sentimentalism  you're 
mistaken.  Why  couldn't  you  live  on  a  woman? 
[More  gently.']  Surely  when  It's  a  question  of  a 
career 


ACT  ni  97 

Diaz.  And  your  career.  What  would  happen 
to  that? 

Carlotta.     You  are  my  career. 

Diaz  [m  a  new  tone'\.  Magdalen,  be  honest 
with  me.  Do  you  really  believe  I  could  be 
cured?  Really?  [^Stops  her  as  she  begins  to 
speaK'.']  Now  be  careful.  Look  me  in  the  face. 
Do  you  really  believe  I  could  be  cured? 

Carlotta.  I  do.  It's  my  religion.  I  know 
you  can  be  cured-  You  talk  about  Crother's 
Look.  I've  read  Crother's  book,  too.  I  once 
wrote  a  sliort  story  about  morphine.  The  idea 
came  into  my  head  the  very  night  you  and  I  met, 
but  I  didn't  use  it  for  years.  Of  course  you  can 
be  cured.  Crother  definitely  states  it.  Hun- 
dreds have  been  cured.  You  are  going  to  be 
cured.  .  .   .  You  are  going  to  cure  yourself. 

Diaz  [with  resolution,  rising^.  I  will.  {Car- 
lotta holds  out  her  hand,  which  he  talies.'\  But 
you  aren't  going  to  leave  me? 

Carlotta  [qmetly'\.  Don't  I  belong  to  you? 
And  don't  you  belong  to  me?  You  took  me,  but 
I  also  took  you.    You're  mine.    Come  with  me. 

Diaz.     Come?    Where? 

Carlotta.  Come  away.  Away  from  here. 
\Pic1dng  up  her  gloves. '[ 

Diaz.     Now?    I  can't  come  now. 

Carlotta  [persuasively  and  naturally^.  Why 
not?  There's  your  hat.  You  don't  want  any- 
thing else.  We'll  buy  everything.  We're  going 
to  begin  again. 


98       SACRED  AND  TROFANE  LOVE 

Diaz.     But  I've  got  a  few  belongings  here. 

Carlotta.  Have  you  got  the  key  of  the  flat  in 
your  pocket? 

Diaz  \^as  if  hypnotised^.    Yes. 

Carlotta.  Then  we'll  send  for  the  belongings. 
lSijren-liJxe.'\  Come  with  me.  [She  takes  his  hat, 
•which  is  hanging  hehincl  the  inner  door,  gives  it  to 
him,  opens  the  door  and  holds  it  open  for  him.^ 

Diaz  [^moving  hack  a  little'].  I  must  say  good- 
bye to  some  friends  on  this  floor.  It  won't  take 
a  moment. 

Carlotta.  No,  no!  [Pause.  Then  gently.] 
We  haven't  that  moment  to  spare,  Emilio.  And 
you're  mine.  [Diaz  approaches  her.]  Aren't  you 
going  to  kiss  me  before  we  leave? 

Diaz  [seizing  her  arms],     I  dared  not. 

Carlotta.  Then  who  will  dare  if  the  master 
will  not  dare  ? 

Diaz.     Here,  in  this  horrible  room? 

Carlotta.     Where  else?    Here  I  found  you. 
[He  kisses  her.  She  returns  his  kiss  with  passion.] 

Carlotta  [in  Diazes  arrns].  Good-bj'e,  room. 
We  shall  never  see  you  again.  [Looking  at  Diaz.] 
Oh,  I  feel  so  weak! 

Diaz.     You've  given  your  strength  to  me. 
[Carlotta  releases  and  stiffens  herself,  and  with  a 
firm  gesture  opens  the  outer  door.    At  a  sign 
from  her  Diaz  goes  out.     She  follows,  and 
shuts  the  door  behind  her.] 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  IV 

Same  scene  as  Act  II r 

There  is  a  small  tray,  with  a  glass  and  a  decanter 
of  wine  on  the  piano. 

Time:  Between  eight  and  nine  at  night. 
Fourteen  months   have  elapsed^^ 

[^Carlotta,  in  evening  dress,  with  cloak,  is  putting 
on  her  gloves.  Enter  Miss  Palmer,  l,  with  a 
telegram.^ 

Carlotta  [nervous,  controlling  herself^.  Open 
it,  Emmeline. 

Miss  Palmer.  Reply  paid.  [Reading.l  "Await- 
ing answer  as  to  proposed  contract  for  new  book. 
Urgent.     Snyder." 

Carlotta.  Why  doesn't  he  telephone,  I  won- 
der.'' 

Miss  Palmer.  You  know  they  haven't  con- 
nected us  up  again  yet. 

Carlotta.     Of  course  not.    I  was  forgetting. 

Miss  Palmer.     What  am  I  to  say.^* 

Carlotta.  Oh!  Say  "Regret  cannot  make  any 
contract  at  present.    Writing." 

Miss  Palmer  [patiently,  protesting^.     Really.'* 

99 


100      SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

You  know  you've  never  had  such  terms  offered 
before.  And  Mr.  Snyder  must  think  it's  very 
important,  or  he  wouldn't  have  telegraphed  so 
late.  I  expect  he  wants  to  catch  the  American 
mail  to-morrow  morning.     He'll  be  disappointed. 

Carlotta.  Well,  he  must  bravely  force  back 
his  tears,  that's  all. 

Miss  Palmer.     But 

Carlotta.  Emmelinc,  how  tiresome  you  are! 
For  over  a  year  I  haven't  had  one  single  ghost  of 
an  idea  for  a  novel.  You  seem  to  think  I  ought 
to  be  a  machine  for  providing  Mr.  Snyder  with 
ten  per  cent. 

[Enter  Diaz,  r.,  in  evening  dress.'\ 

Miss  Palmer.  Very  good.  [She  writes  on  the 
telegraph  form  at  the  piano.  While  writing. '\  Mr. 
Diaz,  the  wine  is  there. 

Diaz.  No  thanks.  [With  determined  gaiety. '\ 
And  who  is  Mr.  Snyder.? 

Carlotta.     He's  my  agent. 

Diaz.     Agent  ? 

Carlotta.  He  looks  after  all  my  book  con- 
tracts for  me. 

Diaz  [nonchalantly'].  Oh,  I  thought  only  music 
hall  artistes  and  people  like  me  had  to  employ 
agents. 

[Enter  Snape,  b.,  in  evening  dress,  with  overcoat; 
hat  in  hand.] 

Snape  [with  suppressed  excitement].  The  car's 
waiting. 


ACT  IV  101 

Diaz  l^calmli/^.     Let  it  wait. 

Snape  [looking  at  his  watchj.  Eight  ten.  Con- 
cert begun. 

Diaz.  Snape,  are  you  getting  nervous  in  your 
old  age?  I  should  have  tliought  the  sight  of 
those  young  virgins  waiting  outside  the  upper 
circle  entrance  at  three  o'clock  this  afternoon 
ought  to  have  set  you  up  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 
[Laughing  easily.^  Such  a  thing's  never  been 
known  at  a  Philharmonic  concert  before,  I 
imagine. 

[Miss  Palmer  rings  the  hell.l 

Snape  [complying  with  Diaz's  mood^.  Yes, 
there  will  be  no  spots  on  the  audience.  I've  just 
been  up  there.    Not  room  for  another  soul. 

Diaz.  I  hope  they'll  find  a  corner  for  me. 
[Snape  laughs  obsequiously.'] 

Carlotta  [tactfully.']  Perhaps  we  had  better 
be  going. 

Diaz  [still  lightly].  Now  please  do  let  it  be 
generally  understood — there's  no  chance  of  me 
being  wanted  before  8.45,  and  I  have  a  most 
particutlar  objecrtion  to  waiting  about  in  the 
artistes'  room.  [Enter  Parlourmaid,  r.  Diaz 
continues,  as  if  addressing  the  company,  including 
the  hypnotised  parlourmaid.]  I  don't  quite  know 
what's  the  matter  with  everybody.  I'm  making 
my  reappearance  at  a  Philharmonic  concert,  than 
which  nothing,  even  in  heaven,  could  be  more 
respectable.     I'm  playing  Beethoven's  Emperor 


102     SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Concerto,  because  that  is  the  latest  piece  of 
pianoforte  music  that  the  Philharmonic  Society 
has  ever  really  cared  for.  All  the  musical 
mummies  in  London,  including  the  arch-mummies 
Sir  Emil  and  Lady  Steinberg,  have  crawled  out 
of  their  coffins  to  hear  me,  and  my  intention  is  to 
put  the  fear  of  God  into  them.  It  won't  be  very 
difficult,  and  nobody  need  worry  the  least  bit  in 
the  world.  [To  the  parlourmaid,  comically.'\ 
And  you.? 

Parlourmaid.     The  bell  rang,  sir. 

Miss  Palmer  [who,  during  the  foregoing  speech 
has  copied  the  telegram  into  her  notebook.'l  Please 
give  this  to  the  telegraph  boy. 

[Exit  Parlourmaid.'\ 

Diaz  [to  Snape.'l  By  the  way,  did  you  write 
to  the  Mercury  and  refuse  that  interview? 

Snape  [taken  aback  and  recovering'\.  I  will 
do  it. 

Miss  Palmer.  Can  I  do  it  for  you,  Mr. 
Diaz.? 

Snape  [jealous'].  I'll  see  to  it.  I've  not  for- 
gotten it. 

Diaz  [teasinglyl.  Look  here,  Snape,  you'd 
better  go  down  and  cool  your  heated  brow  in  the 
car.  [Exit  Snape,  r.  Diaz  continues,  to  Car- 
lotta.'\  It's  a  lucky  thing  for  the  esteemed  Snape 
that  I've  put  him  on  his  legs  again.  He's  aged. 
He's  not  the  imperturbable  paragon  he  used  to  be. 

Carlotta    [tearing   a   glove;    with    a    nervous 


ACT  IV  103 

movement.']  Oh,  dear!  Miss  Palmer,  do  run  and 
get  me  another  pair.  You  know  where  they  are, 
don't  you? 

[Exit  Miss  Palmer,  t..,  swiftly  hut  calmly.'] 

Diaz  [looking  at  his  pliotograph  on  the  piano]. 
Darling — a  boon ! 

Carlotta.     Yes? 

Diaz  [with  great  persuasiveness].  Do  you  spec- 
ially want  that  photograph  there?  [Pause.  He 
goes  on,  feigning  a  childlike  pout.]  I  do  so  dislike 
seeing  my  own  portrait  about. 

Carlotta.  It's  been  just  where  it  is  ever  since 
I  took  this  flat.  [A  silence.]  I'll  have  it  moved. 
[He  kisses  her.]  I'm  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting. 
[She  drags  off  a  glove.] 

Diaz.  But  you  aren't.  D'j^ou  know,  I  almost 
wish  you  weren't  coming. 

Carlotta  [struck.]     Why? 

Diaz.  I'm  not  nervous,  but  you  might  make 
me  nervous. 

Carlotta.  Me!  I — ^I  thought  you  needed  me. 
Don't  you  remember 

Diaz.  I  was  very  much  all  right  at  the 
rehearsal  this  morning,  and  rehearsals  are  apt  to 
be  ticklish  things.  .  .  .  You  see,  I  oughtn't  to 
count  always  on  you.  I've  got  to  be  inde- 
pendent. 

Carlotta.  But  to-night — /  [A  silence.]  Yes 
I  quite  see.     I  won't  go.     I  hadn't  thought  of  it 


104  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

like  that.     [A  silence.'\     You'll  come  back  to  me 
instantly  you've  played? 

Dia::.  Two  minutes  in  tlie  car.  \_Loo7iing  at 
the  cloch'.J  In  an  hour — less  than  an  hour — I 
shall  be  here  again.  [^Picks  up  his  hat  and  over- 
coat. J  Well — I'll  go  doAvn  and  put  Snape  out  of 
his  misery. 

Carlotta  [embracing  him  fondly;  in  a  whisper'\. 
I  can't  stop  my  heart  from  going  with  you. 
\Exit  Diaz,  u.     Carlotta  removes  her  cloak  and 
sits    down.     Enter   Miss    Palmer,    with   gloves.'\ 

Miss  Palmer.     Here  they  are. 

Carlotta.  So  sorry!  I  shan't  want  them 
now.     I'm  not  going. 

Miss  Palmer  [calmly  surprised"].  Not  to  the 
concert  ? 

Carlotta.     No.    I  don't  feel  equal  to  it. 

Miss  Palmer.     Mr.  Diaz  has  gone.? 

Carlotta.     Yes. 

Miss  Palmer.    Have  you  got  a  headache  .?* 

Carlotta.     No. 

Miss  Palmer.  Well,  in  that  case  can  you  give 
me  a  couple  of  minutes?  Because  there  are  one 
or  two  little  things  that  ought  to  be  looked  into. 
I  hate  to  trouble  you,  but 

Carlotta.  Certainly,  what  is  it?  It's  been 
such  a  rush  since  I  came  back. 

Miss  Palmer.     I  don't  believe  in  putting  off. 

Carlotta.  Neither  do  I.  But  I  haven't  been 
here  a  week  yet. 


ACT  IV  105 

Miss  Palmer.     Eight  days. 

Carlotta.     All  right.    Eight  days. 

Miss  Palmer.     Finance. 

Carlotta.     Well,  finance. 

Miss  Palmer  [taking  slip  from  notebook'\. 
Here's  the  total  of  what  I've  spent  at  the  flat  dur- 
ing the  fourteen  months  you've  been  away.  In- 
cluding wages,  but  of  course  not  including  ray 
salary  or  the  rent. 

Carlotta  [^refusing  the  offered  slip'\.  How  much 
is  it.-* 

Miss  Palmer.     One  forty-nine — eleven — six. 

Carlotta.  Miraculous,  Emmeline!  I  hope  you 
don't  want  me  to  praise  your  economy — ^because 
words  simply  will  not  do  it. 

Miss  Palmer.  I  only  want  you  to  understand 
clearly  that  if  the  bank  balance  is  very  low  it's 
not  my  fault  in  any  way. 

Carlotta.  So  the  bank  balance  is  very 
low. 

Miss  Palmer.  I  told  you  this  morning  what 
it  was.  You  see,  while  you've  been  away  {^glanc- 
ing at  hook^  you've  apparently  spent 

Carlotta  [with  humorous  mock  solemnity,  hid- 
ing her  state  of  nerves'\.  Emmeline,  do  you  want 
to  hear  a  piercing  shriek?  Because  if  you  don't, 
don't  exasperate  me  with  any  more  figures. 

Miss  Palmer  {quite  calmly'].  Very  well.  But 
what  are  you  going  to  do?  There's  practically 
nothing    coming    in    from    books.     Mr.    Snyder 


106     SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

tliouglit  Ispenlove's  last  account  was  very  dis- 
appointing, and  tlie  next  will  be  worse. 

CarJotta  [x&ho  has  risen  and  put  Diazes  portrait 
in  a  drawer  and  sat  down  again'\  .  Have  you  heard 
how  Mrs.  Ispenlove  is  lately.'' 

Miss  Palmer  [surprised^.  Me!  Mrs.  Ispen- 
love !    No,  why  should  I  hear.'' 

Carlotta.  Mrs.  Ispenlove  hasn't  called  by  any 
chance,  since  I  came  back.'' 

Miss  Palmer.  No.  [With  a  certain  emphasis.'] 
Nobody's  called.  As  I  was  saying,  there's  noth- 
ing coming  in  from  your  books,  and  3'ou  won't 
make  a  contract  for  a  new  novel. 

Carlotta.  Wliat  about  my  private  income.'' 
It  used  to  keep  up  a  household  larger  than  this 
in  the  Five  Towns. 

Miss  Palmer.  Oh,  I've  no  doubt.  But  the 
Five  Towns  isn't  London.  Seven  hundred  a  year 
or  a  trifle  under  won't  go  far  in  these  mansions. 

Carlotta.     Well,  I  must  sell  a  security. 

Miss  Palmer.  Thank  you.  I  merely  wished 
for  instructions.  {Beginning  again.]  Now,  I've 
found  out  already  that  the  new  cook  is  very 
extravagant. 

Carlotta.  She's  worse  than  that.  She's 
narrow-minded.  Saute  potatoes  six  times  in  three 
days  seems  to  me  almost  bigoted. 

Miss  Palmer.  And  as  the  housemaid  hinted 
to  me  to-night  that  the  parlourmaid  intends  to 
give  notice  to-morrow,  I  think  you  might  as  well 


ACT  IV  107 

get  rid  of  the  lot  at  the  end  of  the  fortnight. 
There's  nothing  like  a  clean  sweep. 

Carlotta.  Oli,  I  rather  liked  the  parlourmaid. 
What's  her  grievance? 

Miss  Palmer.  It  seems  she  says  she  under- 
stood you  were  a  single  lady. 

Carlotta.    The  housemaid  told  you  that.? 

Miss  Palmer.     Yes. 

Carlotta.  And  what  did  you  say  to  the  house- 
maid ? 

Miss  Palmer.  I  didn't  say  anything.  I 
should  never  think  of  discussing  you  with  any- 
body— much  less  servants. 

Carlotta.     And  that's  all.? 

Miss  Palmer.  Yes.  It  seems  she  keeps  on 
saying  every  morning  while  she's  brushing  Mr. 
Diaz's  clothes  that  she  understood  you  w^ere  a 
single  lady. 

Carlotta.    Ah!    But  I'm  not!    I'm  not! 

Miss  Palmer  [quite  calmly~\.  Then  that  was 
my  mistake.  I  told  her  you  were.  I'd  no  idea 
you'd  got  married  while  you  were  away. 

Carlotta.  I  haven't  got  married,  and  I'm  not 
single.  I  never  considered  your  feelings  when  I 
brought  Mr.  Diaz  to  this  flat. 

Miss  Palmer.  Miss  Peel,  we  know  what  ser- 
vants are,  of  course,  but  I  hope  you  don't  imagine 
I'm  like  them. 

Carlotta.    But  what  do  you  think  of  it  all? 


108     SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Miss  Palmer.  I  think  it's  no  business  of  mine. 
I've  always  been  quite  happy  with  3'ou. 

Carlotta.    Have  you  ever  been  in  love? 

Miss  Palmer.     No. 

Carlotta.    Will  you  ever  be? 

Miss  Palmer.  I  don't  expect  to  be.  But  of 
course  one  can't  answer  for  the  future. 

Carlotta.  Emmeline,  I  could  shake  you!  I 
could  tear  you  to  pieces  !  [^Miss  Palmer  hooks  the 
notebook  to  her  belt.^  I  wonder  whether  it's  bet- 
ter to  be  a  woman  like  you  or  to  be  a  woman  like 
me. 

Miss  Palmer.  I  really  don't  know.  There's 
a  good  deal  to  be  said  on  both  sides. 

Carlotta.  Don't  you  comprehend  I'm  in 
agony  to-night? 

Miss  Palmer.  I  know  you're  very  upset,  and 
I  wish  I  could  do  something,  but  I  don't  exactly 
see  what. 

Carlotta.  I  was  obliged  to  bring  Mr.  Diaz 
here!  He's  been  very,  very  ill.  I've  nursed  him. 
Not  a  physical  illness — worse. 

Miss  Palmer.     Yes. 

Carlotta.  He's  cured.  At  least  I  think  he's 
cured,  but  everything  depends  on  to-night! 
Everything!  If  he  has  a  success,  a  big  success, 
all  is  well.  If  he  doesn't — !  And  I'm  sitting 
here !  He  wouldn't  let  me  go  with  him.  He 
daren't!  He  daren't!  Of  course  he  seemed 
very   cool  and   cheerful  to  you,  but  it  was   aU 


ACT  IV  109 

pretence.  7  know  what  he  felt  like.  [^She 
shudders.']  At  the  last  moment  he  daren't  let  me 
go  with  him.  And  so  here  I  am — and  in  a  few 
minutes  he'll  be  playing. 

Miss  Palmer.     Then  you'll  soon  know. 

Carlotta  [standing  up],  Emmeline,  you  must 
go  to  the  concert — this  instant. 

Miss  Palmer.     But  I'm  not  dressed. 

Carlotta.  Put  on  my  cloak  and  keep  it  on. 
Here's  the  ticket.  Take  a  taxi.  No,  you  mustn't 
have  my  cloak.  {^Snatching  it  away  from  her.] 
He  might  think  it  was  me.  You've  got  one  of 
your  own.  The  very  moment  the  applause  is 
finished  drive  back  and  tell  me.  You'll  get  here 
first,  and  then  if  it's  not  a  success  I  shall  know 
what  to  say  to  him  when  he  comes.  I  must  know 
how  it  went  before  he  has  to  tell  me !  I  must ! 
And  I  can  rely  on  you,  can't  I,  not  to  come  home 
with  a  fairy-tale. 

Miss  Palmer  [quite  calmly].    Most  decidedly. 
[Exit  Miss  Palmer,  r.     The  door  remains  open 
and  conversation  is  heard.       Re-enter  Miss 
Palmer.] 

Mrs.  Palmer.  Here's  a  lady  wants  to  see  Mr. 
Diaz. 

Carlotta.  Now  please  don't  waste  time  stand- 
ing there. 

Miss  Palmer.     But 

Carlotta  [scarcely  able  to  control  herself].  Oh ! 
Tell  her  to  come  in  here.    I'll  settle  it. 


110     SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Miss  Palmer  [to  parlourmaid,  off,  as  she  heV' 
self  (lis a p pears'}.      Sliow  tlie  lady  in,  please. 
l^Exit  Miss  Palmer,  n.     Enter  Rosalie,  e.] 

Rosalie  [startled}.     It  is  you! 

Carlotta  [equally  startled,  after  a  moment}. 
Yes.  .  .  .  But  didn't  you  expect  to  find  me  here? 

Rosalie  [stiffl/j}.  No,  mademoiselle.  But  I 
might  have  known  it. 

Carlotta  [stiffly}.  What  do  you  mean,  ma- 
dame — you  might  have  known  it? 

Rosalie.  What  I  mean?  In  truth  it  is  a 
little  difficult—  [Stops.} 

Carlotta.  Will  you  sit  down?  This  is  my 
home.     [They  sit.} 

Rosalie.     Ah !     In  effect ! 

Carlotta.  So  you  have  come  to  London,  ma- 
dame  ? 

Rosalie.  Since  three  months,  mademoiselle. 
My  knowledge  of  English,  all  that  I  had  heard  of 
London,  made  me  to  think  that  perhaps  London 
would  have  for  me  some  advantages  over  Paris. 
And  veritably,  it  was  so. 

Carlotta.  And  so  you  found  out  this  address? 
[With  excessive  smiling  urbanity.}  How  did  you 
discover  it? 

Rosalie.  Mademoiselle,  it  is  perhaps  best  to 
be  frank. 

Carlotta.     Always. 

Rosalie.     Among  my  new  friends   there  is   a 
young  musician — violoniste.     He    is    mad    about 


ACT  IV  111 

music — and  about  me.  He  makes  part  of  the 
orchestre  of  Queen's  Hall.  He  spoke  of  Diaz, 
with  enthusiasm.  He  was  all  excited.  From 
what  appears,  Diaz  is  going  to  play  with  orchestre 
at  Queen's  Hall.  I  do  not  understand  those 
things,  but  without  doubt  you  know.  It  is  a 
long  time  since  I  heard  the  name  of  Diaz.  "Well," 
I  say  to  my  violoniste.  "You  have  the  address  of 
Diaz?"  "Why,'"*  he  says.  "Does  that  regard 
you.P"  I  say;  and  I  say  again,  "Have  you  the 
address  of  Diaz?"  He  says  "No."  "You  cannot 
have  it  for  me?"  I  say.  He  says  "No."  "Then  you 
do  not  love  me,"  I  say;  "and  it  is  finished  between 
you  and  me."  Then  he  has  me  the  address  within 
the  twenty-four  hours.  How?  I  ask  not.  The 
address  is  here.     I  come  to  see  my  old  friend. 

Carlotta.     He  is  not  here. 

Rosalie.     Where  is  he,  mademoiselle? 

Carlotta.     He  is  playing  at  a  concert. 

Rosalie.  Then  it  is  to-night?  ...  At  what 
hour  will  he  return  ? 

Carlotta.     I  do  not  know,  madame 

Rosalie.     But  he  will  return? 

Carlotta.     How  can  I  tell  madame? 

Rosalie.     But  he  inhabits  here? 

Carlotta.  Madame,  this  flat  is  mine.  I  have 
lived  here  alone  for  a  number  of  years. 

Rosalie.  Nevertheless,  at  present  you  enter- 
tain Diaz  here? 

Carlotta.    [dropping  her  urbanity'].      I   must 


112  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

really  protest.     What  has  all  this  got  to  do  with 
you  ?     I  don't  know  you. 

Rosalie  prising,  angry,  and  losing  her  self- 
control^.  How!  You  do  not  know  me?  What 
this  has  to  do  with  me?  But  it  has  everything 
to  do  with  me.  I  know  Monsieur  Diaz  in  Paris. 
He  is  poor.  He  has  a  vice.  He  is  not  celebrated. 
Or  if  he  is  celebrated  I  do  not  know  it.  While 
loving  him,  I  am  also  his  mother.  I  find  for  him 
a  home.  I  pay  the  rent.  I  give  him  often  food. 
Yes,  and  I  give  him  also  money.  I  give  him  of 
the  money  which  I  have  received  from  others. 
Why  do  I  thus  act?  It  is  because  I  am  mad  about 
him,  as  the  violoniste  about  me.  If  Diaz  had  been 
rich  there  would  have  been  no  others.  I  should 
have  given  myself  entirely  to  him.  It  was  my 
dream.  But  he  was  poor.  It  is  necessary  to  live. 
And  so — there  were  others.  Then — you  arrive. 
I  suspect  nothing.  I  was  sure  of  Diaz,  quite  sure. 
Besides,  I  liked  you.  You  were  sympathique  to 
me.  You  recall  to  yourself  our  interview.  .  .  . 
One  called  me  away.  The  exigencies  of  the  pro- 
fession— what  would  you?  I  return.  Gone!  I 
ask  the  concierge.  No  word !  That  night — noth- 
ing! Next  day — nothing!  I  wait.  Nothing! 
Nothing!  Vanished!  Disappeared!  I  resign 
myself — what  would  you?  But  I  had  the  heart 
torn.  Then  after  a  year,  more  than  a  year,  I  am 
in  London  and  one  tells  me  the  name  of  Diaz. 
After  all,  he  is  celebrated.     I  go  to  find  him.     It 


ACT  IV  113 

is  you  that  I  find.  Naturally  it  is  you  that  I  find ! 
I  ought  to  have  known  it,  but  truly  I  am  too 
simple.  I  put  questions  to  you  about  Diaz,  and 
you  reply — what  has  it  to  do  with  me? 

Carlotta.     Madame,  I  assure  you 

Rosalie.  You  steal  what  is  mine,  and  then  you 
permit  yourself  to  protest  against  my  curiosity. 
You  are  a  woman  of  society.  There  are  some 
who  would  call  me  cocotte.  Eh,  bieni  I  like  better 
to  be  that  than  femme  du  monde.  All  we  others 
say  the  same  thing,  and  we  are  right. 

Carlotta.     Will  you  listen  to  me,  please. 

Rosalie.     You  are  with  him?     Say. 

Carlotta.  I  have  never  left  him  from  that  day 
to  this. 

Rosalie.  He  could  not  have  forgotten  me. 
He  was  not  capable  of  an  infamy.  Therefore  he 
wrote  to  me,  and  you,  who  never  left  him,  sup- 
pressed his  letters.  And  since  he  received  no 
answer  from  me,  he  said  to  himself,  "She  is  only 
a  cocotte.  She  forgets  quickly" — I  who  was 
mad  about  him.  Is  it  not  true  you  suppressed 
his  letter? 

Carlotta.  I  did  what  you  would  have  done  in 
my  place. 

Rosalie.  Ah!  [Rather  at  a  loss.^  You  be- 
lieve that?     You 

Carlotta.     Will  you  please  listen? 

Rosalie  [sitting'\.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  do 
nothing  else. 


114     SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta.  You  said  to  me  in  Paris  that  he 
could  not  be  cured. 

Rosalie.  Of  tlie  morphine?  And  I  say  it  again. 
He  could  not.     Never! 

Carlotta.     So  you  still  think  so.     Well,  he  is 

cured. 

Rosalie.     You  malce  illusions  for  yourself. 

Carlotta.  Nevertheless,  he  is  cured — abso- 
lutely. 

Rosalie.     And  how? 

Carlotta.     He  cured  himself. 

Rosalie.     Tell  that  to  another. 

Carlotta.  If  you  prefer  it,  I  cured  him. 
From  that  daj'^  when  I  saw  you,  to  this,  he  has 
never  had  morphine. 

Rosalie.     How  do  you  know? 

Carlotta  [quietltj  confident.']  You  may  believe 
me. 

Rosalie.  But  how  do  you  know?  You  said 
you  never  left  him.    What  did  you  mean? 

Carlotta.  For  the  first  three  months  he  was 
never  out  of  my  sight,  night  or  day.  You  under- 
stand— never. 

Rosalie.  But  it  must  have  been  formidable — 
[pronouncing  in  the  French  way  the  second  time] 
formidable ! 

Carlotta.     Possibly. 

Rosalie.  Tell  me!  Tell  me  the  details  of  it! 
That  interests  me  enormously,  passionately. 


ACT  IV  lis 

Carlotta  [shaking  her  head"].  No.  I  shall 
never  tell  anybody. 

Rosalie.  But  I  can  imagine  it  to  myself.  The 
frightful  scenes  !  The  terror !  The  vileness  !  The 
humiliations !  Ah !  The  humiliations  !  .  .  .  You 
locked  the  door.  He  would  dispute  to  you  the  key. 
He  would  fight.  He  would  beat  you,  screaming. 
[A  pause.  Carlotta  looks  at  her  steadily.']  But 
did  you  not  give  him  a  little  dose,  a  very  little  dose 
at  the  commencement?    And  then  less  and  less? 

Carlotta.     No,  I  did  not. 

Rosalie.  Did  you  not  deceive  him  with  injec- 
tions of  water?    It  is  the  customary  method. 

Carlotta.     No,  I  did  not. 

Rosalie.  Eh  bien,  there  is  no  need  to  tell  me. 
I  know  something  of  all  that,  myself.  It  must 
have  been  revolting,  horrible ! 

Carlotta.     It  succeeded. 

Rosalie  [gentlyl.     Who  knows? 

Carlotta  [matter-of-fact].  I  know.  He  plays 
now  better  than  ever  he  played.  No,  he  could 
not  do  that.  But  he  plays  as  well  as  ever  he 
played — and  he  was  the  greatest  pianist  in  the 
world.  The  rehearsals  have  been  splendid.  To- 
night he  takes  up  his  career  again.  To-morrow 
morning  all  the  newspapers  in  London,  Paris, 
New  York,  Chicago,  Berlin,  Boston — they  wiU  be 
talking  about  him.  At  this  very  moment  he  is 
playing. 


116  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Rosalie.  And  you  are  here?  You  are  not  at 
the  concert? 

Carlotta.     No,  I  didn't  go  to  the  concert. 

Rosalie.  You  didn't  go !  Oh,  England — what 
an  island !    What  an  island ! 

Carlotta.  Now  I've  explained  to  you,  ma- 
dame,  I  hope 

Rosalie.  Pardon  me,  mademoiselle,  there 
remains  a  mystery.  When  I  had  the  pleasure  to 
meet  you  in  Paris,  3'ou  told  me  then  that  you 
had  not  seen  Diaz  since  many  years.  It  could 
not  have  been  the  truth. 

Carlotta.  Yes,  it  was  quite  true.  Seven  years. 
Eight  years. 

Rosalie.     Then  there  had  been  letters. 

Carlotta.     No.      Nothing. 

Rosalie.  What!  Nothing  happens  in  eight 
years,  and  then  suddenly  you  come,  you  take  him 
away,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  you  never 
leave  him?     Not  possible! 

Carlotta.  Madame,  it  is  quite  simple.  When 
I  was  a  young  girl  I  gave  myself  to  him,  and  the 
next  day  I  left  him — because  I  lacked  faith.  It 
was  a  mistake.  It  was  a  crime.  All  his  mis- 
fortunes came  after  that.  When  I  met  him 
again,  I  was  determined  not  to  make  the  same 
error.  I  owed  him  my  confidence,  and  I  gave  it. 
I  took  care  not  to  lack  faith  a  second  time.  You 
did  not  believe  that  he  could  be  cured;  but  I 
believed. 


ACT  IV  117 

Rosalie.  I  begin  to  suspect  that  after  all  you 
English  women  comprehend  love — what  it  is. 

Carlotta  [with  an  appeal].  Let  me  beg  you — 
I  feel  sure  you  are  good-natured 

Rosalie  [curtly'].  No!  No  compliments, 
please.  ...  I  will  go.  I  go  now.  I  leave  him  to 
you.     [Rising.] 

Carlotta  [rising  eagerly].  Yes,  I  knew  you 
were  good-natured. 

Rosalie  [harshly].  But  I  do  it  not  for  you. 
Ah,  no !    I  do  it  for  him, 

Carlotta.  We're  alike  in  that.  What  I  have 
done  was  for  him. 

Rosalie.  But  you  have  not  given  him  up.  You 
keep  him. 

Carlotta.    Yes,  that's  true.    It  just  happens  so. 

Rosalie.  It  also  happens  that  my  society  would 
not  be  very  good  for  him.  I  will  hide  nothing 
from  you,  mademoiselle — I  too  have  taken  to 
morphine  in  my  turn.     What  would  you.'' 

Carlotta.     Oh,  I  am  so  sorry. 

Rosalie.  Why?  I  like  it.  I  adore  it.  It  is 
my  luxury.  Never  would  I  permit  myself  to  be 
cured!  Ah!  Cured  of  that.?  No !  .  .  .  Made- 
moiselle, will  3'ou  tell  him  that  I  have  not  for- 
gotten him.''  [Carlotta  looks  at  her.]  No,  do  not 
tell  him.  Possibly  I  flatter  myself,  but  it  might 
disturb  him.  Adieu,  mademoiselle.  [She  turns 
away.]  \ 


118  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

Carlotta.  Madame,  before  you  go,  how  is  your 
little  boy?     He  must  be  getting  quite  big. 

Rosalie  \_facing  her'].  He  is  dead — since  four 
months. 

Carlotta.     Dead.? 

Rosalie.  Do  not  regard  me  like  that.  I  wear  no 
mourning  because  we  others  must  not  wear  mourn- 
ing.    It  is  necessary  to  live  and  to  be  gay. 

Carlotta.     Madame! 

Rosalie  [savageli/l.  Do  you  think  that  if  my 
little  boy  had  not  died  I  would  have  given  you 
Diaz.''  Never.  I  gave  him  to  you  only  because 
my  spirit  is  broken.  [WeaMi^.1  Life  is  unjust 
What  have  I  done?  Everybody  will  tell  you  that 
I  am  a  good  girl.  Good-bye !  \^She  hurries  out 
K,  crying.] 

Exit  Carlotta,  r.,  following  Rosalie. 
Enter  Snape,  l,  with  slow,   rather  agitated  dif- 
fidence.    He  looks  about.: 
Re-enter  Carlotta,  r.,  weakly.     At  sight  of  Snape 
she  becomes  alert  and  braces  herself. 

Carlotta  [liighly  nervous  and  apprehensive]. 
What  is  the  matter?  What  are  you  doing  here, 
Mr.  Snape? 

Snape.     I  hardly  know. 

Carlotta.     Why  are  you  always  so  mysterious? 

Snape  [simply  and  gently].  But  I'm  not  mys- 
terious, IViiss  Peel.     I  wandered  in. 

Carlotta.  You  didn't  come  in  by  the  front 
door.     I've  just  been  there. 


ACT  IV  119 

Snape.  Yes,  I  came  in  by  the  fi'ont  door  about 
three  minutes  ago,  but  I  went  round  into  the 
boudoir  because  I  heard  voices  in  this  room. 

Carlotta.  But  why  in  God's  name  aren't  you 
at  the  concert? 

Snape.  That's  just  what  I  thought  I'd  better 
tell  you.   .   .  .  He  sent  me  away. 

Carlotta.  What  do  you  mean — he  sent  you 
away?     Did  he  tell  you  to  come  back  here? 

Snape.  He  didn't  tell  me  to  go  anywhere. 
When  we  got  to  the  hall  we  found  the  programme 
was  late.  ...  I  don't  know  why.  .  .  .  The  con- 
ductor had  just  come  into  the  artistes'  room  to 
fetch  What's-her-name,  the  soprano.  He  was  in 
a  hurry,  and  he  told  Mr.  Diaz  the  concerto 
wouldn't  be  on  for  half  an  hour.  Mr.  Diaz  was 
very  angr}^  He  said  he  would  not  wait.  He 
said  the  order  of  the  programme  must  be  changed. 
.  .  .  Well,  it  was !  The  soprano  had  to  give 
way,  and  the  Casse-Noisette  had  to  give  way,  and 
the  conductor  went  on  to  the  platform  to  make 
an  explanation.  .  .  .  Our  friend — followed  him. 
.  .  .  Nerves  ...  of  course. 

Carlotta.     But  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing. 

Snape.  Oh,  I've  heard  of  such  a  thing,  but  I 
never  actually  saw  it  before. 

Carlotta.  And  couldn't  you  use  your  in- 
fluence ? 

Snape.  I  did  what  I  could.  .  .  .  But  I  was 
only  cursed  for  having  insisted  on  getting  there 


120     SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

too  early.  I  reasoned.  I  protested.  ...  At  last 
he  said:  "Leave  the  hall,  Snape.  Leave  it  alto- 
gether."    He  was  furious.     He  shook. 

Carlotta  \^sarcastically'\.     And  you  obeyed. 

Snape.  I  am  not  the  man  I  was.  I  had  appall- 
ing scenes  with  our  friend  before  he  dismissed 
me  some  years  ago.  And  since  then — !  [.1  ges- 
ture.^    What  could  I  do?     I  wandered  here. 

Carlotta.  But  if  he  was  in  such  a  state  he 
can't  possibly  do  himself  justice!  He  can't 
possibly ! 

Snape.     He  cannot. 

Carlotta.  I  ought  to  have  gone  with  him  and 
stayed  in  the  artistes'  room. 

Snape.     Assuredly. 

Carlotta.  But  then  he  didn't  want  me  to  go 
with  him,  and  if  I'd  insisted  it  would  have  made 
him  worse. 

Snape.     Assuredly. 

Carlotta  [with  sudden  decision,  putting  on  her 
cloaTi^.  I  must  go  to  him.  I  must  go  to  him.  If 
he  has  left  the  hall  before  I  get  there  I  shall  come 
back  here  immediately.     You  stay  where  you  are. 

Snape,     I  prefer  that. 
[As  Carlotta  goes  towards  the  door,  enter  Miss 
Palmer,  r.] 

Carlotta.     Well? 

Miss  Palmer.     It's  all  over. 

Carlotta.     How  did  he  play? 

Miss  Palmer.     I  didn't  hear  him. 


ACT  IV  121 

Carlotta.     Didn't  hear  him? 

Miss  Palmer.  It  had  begun  before  I  got  there, 
and  the  doorkeeper  wouldn't  let  anybody  into 
the  auditorium  till  it  was  finished.  You  know 
how  they  are.  So  I  stood  outside  and  looked 
through  the  glass.  I  could  hear  the  orchestra, 
of  course — it  was  very  noisy  indeed —  but  scarcely 
anything  of  the  piano.  [Quietly  taking  her  gloves 
off-l    As  soon  as  it  was  finished  they  let  me  in. 

Carlotta.     But  the  applause? 

Miss  Palmer.    Enthusiastic.    Very  enthusiastic. 

Carlotta.     Terrific? 

Miss  Palmer  [calmlyl.  Yes,  I  suppose  it  was. 
Mr.  Diaz  kept  walking  off  and  coming  on  again, 
and  shaking  his  head. 

Carlotta.     But  didn't  he  smile? 

Miss  Palmer.     I  really  couldn't  tell  you. 

Carlotta.     But  surely  you  must  have  seen. 

Miss  Palmer.  There  was  so  much  excitement. 
A  lot  of  people — women — standing  round  the 
platform,  cheering,  and  so  on. 

Carlotta.     Did  they  get  on  to  the  platform? 

Miss  Palmer.  No — it  was  too  high.  Then 
Lady  Steinberg  pushed  past  me.  She  said  to 
some  one  that  she  was  going  to  the  artistes'  room. 

Snape.  That  settles  it.  [He  tries  to  perform 
a  pirouette.^ 

Carlotta.     Was  there  an  encore? 

Miss  Palmer.  I  don't  know.  When  I  came 
away  Mr.  Diaz  was  still  walking  off  and  coming 


122  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

on  again  and  shaking  his  head.  You  told  me  to 
come  back  as  quickly  as  I  could,  didn't  you? 
l^She  moves  away,  l.] 

Carlotta.  Where  are  you  going? 
Miss  Palmer.  I'm  just  going  to  put  the  cover 
on  the  parrot's  cage  before  I  forget.  Every- 
thing's so  upset  to-night.  [^Exit,  l.] 
Carlotta  [^zvith  a  nervous  laugli^.  She's  an 
angel,  but  one  of  these  days  she'll  be  the  death  of 
me. 

Snape.     Me  too. 

Carlotta.    Then  it  was  a  tremendous  success? 
Snape     [nodding     gloriously     several     times'\. 
Otherwise  Lady  Steinberg  would  never  have  left 
her  seat.     In — incredible  man! 

Carlotta.     Go  and  look  after  him.    Go  and  look 
after  him. 

Exit  Snape  with  celerity,  r.     Carlotta,  with  an 
inarticulate  sound  and  a  gesture  of  utter  ex- 
haustion, falls  into  an  easy  chair,  and  hides 
her  face. 
Enter  Diaz,   r.     He  comes  in  very  quietly  and 
calmly,  with  an  eye  on  Carlotta.     After  a 
moment,  as  he  approaches,  she  hears  him  and 
shows  her  face,  without,  however,  changing 
her  almost  recumbent  posture  of  exhaustion. 
Diaz    [somewhat    self-conscious^.      Well,     it's 
over — and  it's  all  right.     [He  drops  his  hat  and 
muffler  on  a  chair. ^ 


ACT  IV  123 

Carlotta  {^somewhat  self-conscious'].  I  knew  it 
would  be  all  right. 

He  bends  down  to  kiss  her,  and  as  he  does  so  she 
raises  her  face  to  his,  and  throws  her  arms 
round   his   neck. 

Diaz  [more  naturally  and  freely].  They  in- 
sisted on  an  encore. 

Carlotta  [lightly].    What  did  you  g\\e^ 

Diaz.  I  didn't  give  anything.  I  insisted  they 
shouldn't  have  an  encore.  Why  should  they  have 
an  encore.'' 

Carlotta.     But  surely,  darling 

Diaz.  The  fact  is  [with  faint  humour]  strictly 
between  ourselves,  I  couldn't  quite  trust  myself 
for  an  encore.  I  was  afraid  I  might  come  to  the 
end  of  my  nerve  before  I  came  to  the  end  of  the 
encore.  After  all,  I've  been  through  something 
to-night. 

Carlotta  [^dreamily.]  Yes.  [  She  takes  his 
hand.] 

Diaz.  Everything  was  against  me.  A  most 
ridiculous  scene  when  I  got  into  the  artistes' 
room!  They  wanted  me  to  hang  about  for  over 
half  an  hour.  I  wouldn't.  Snape  lost  his  head; 
I  had  to  send  him  away.  I  was  angry.  How- 
ever, he  was  waiting  on  the  landing,  very  apolo- 
getic, when  I  got  out  of  the  lift  here  just  now,  so 
I  benevolently  forgave  him  and  he's  gone  home 
quite  happy.  .  .  .  Yes,  I'm  glad  now  that  I  stuck 
to  the  Beethoven  idea.     Anyhow  I've  knocked  on 


124  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

the  head  the  silly  notion  that  I  can  only  play 
Chopin.  I  fancy  I've  thrown  some  new  light  on  the 
Emperor  Concerto  for  them.  And  I  must  say  they 
admitted  it — handsomely,  very  handsomely. 

Carlotta.     Then  it  was  a  triumph. 

Diaz.  It  was  as  great  a  triumph  as  I've  ever 
had. 

Carlotta.     Really? 

Diaz.  Really.  I'm  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
subject  to  any  illusions  about  the  effect  of  my 
own  playing.  I  never  have  been,  and  I  wasn't 
to-night.  I  always  said  the  thing  could  be 
done.  .   .   .  Well,  it's  been  done. 

Carlotta.     I  do  wish  I'd  been  there. 

Diaz.  So  do  I,  in  one  way.  And  yet  I'm  glad 
you  weren't.  It  was  safer.  I  looked  at  your 
empty  seat,  and  although  you  weren't  in  it,  I 
could  see  you  all  the  same. 

[Carlotta  jumps  up  and  kisses  him.^ 

Diaz.     You  haven't  taken  your  cloak  off. 

Carlotta.  As  far  as  that  goes,  you  haven't 
taken  your  overcoat  off. 

Diaz  [self-conscious  again.  The  Tcey  of  the 
scene  changes^.  No.  I've  got  to  go  out  again  for 
a  while. 

Carlotta.     Go  out?    Now? 

Diaz.  Lady  Steinberg's  making  a  night  of  it. 
Reception  or  something.  She  came  round  and 
acked  me  to  look  in.  In  fact  she  wanted  to  carry 
me  off  with  her  there  and  then.     However,  I  was 


ACT  IV  125 

determined  to  see  j^ou  first,  so  I  said  I'd  appear 
later  on.  I  thought  I'd  better  go.  You  under- 
stand what  the  Steinberg  woman  is  in  our 
business.  No  one  can  lift  a  finger  in  London 
without  her.  You  see,  more  or  less,  everj^body 
will  be  there,  and  if  I  show  myself  everybody'll 
know  there's  been  no  deception  about  to-night's 
affair.  It  will  fix  me  definitely  for  the  future.  I 
expect  I  shan't  be  more  than  an  hour  or  so.  You 
don't  mind,  do  you? 

Carlotta  levenly'\.    Of  course  not. 

Diaz  [^ahsently  picTcmg  up  his  hat^.  I  could 
take  you  with  me,  but  it  might  seem —  [^With  a 
gesture.^  You  never  know!  .  .  .  I'm  looking  at 
it  from  3^our  point  of  view. 

Carlotta.  Oh,  I  shouldn't  dream  of  going.  [^She 
takes  off  her  cloak.     He  helps  her.'\ 

Diaz.     Shall  you  be  up  when  I  come  back? 

Carlotta  \^sweetly'\.  I  don't  know.  I  may  be. 
But  I  give  no  guarantee. 

Diaz  \^casually~\.  Well — what  about  finding  a 
plot  for  your  new  book? 

Carlotta.     My  new  book!    What  new  book? 

Diaz.  Aren't  you  ever  going  to  write  another? 
I  shouldn't  like  you  to  drop  novels  altogether, 
my  dearest.    It  wouldn't  be  good  for  3'^ou. 

Carlotta.  No,  it  wouldn't,  would  it?  I  must 
rummage  into  my  mind.  I  haven't  looked  into  the 
dark  corners  of  my  mind  for  ever  so  long. 

Diaz  \_smiling^.     Do  .  .  .  Well 


126  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

[^He  Jiisses  her  hand,  and  then  picks  up  his  hat. 
She  gives  a  little  wave  to  him.  Exit  Diaz,  r., 
When  he  has  gone  Carlotta  falls  forward 
with  her  head  and  arms  on  the  piano.  She 
is  heard  sobbing.  Re-enter  Diaz,  r.,  quickly 
and  rather  noisily.^ 

Diaz.  My  muffler!  \^He  stands  still,  then 
rushes  to  Carlotta.^  Carline!  [He  pulls  her  to- 
wards him  and  looks  her  in  the  face.^  What  is 
it? 

Carlotta  [limply,  but  mastering  her  tears,  and 
making  an  effort  to  smilel.  INIy  poor  boy!  It's 
very  wicked  of  you  [a  sob]  to  forget  your  muffler. 
[She  smiles  for  an  instant  comically.^ 

Diaz.  Carline,  you're  upset  because  I'm  leav- 
ing 3'ou  alone.  I'm  most  frightfully  sorry,  I  am 
really,  but  I  assure  you 

Carlotta  [as  before,  putting  her  hand  over  his 
mouth,  and  gazing  into  his  face'\.  No,  no!  I 
won't  hear  it.  You're  a  g-g-great  artist — again. 
And — g-g-great  artists  must  not  apologize.  Don't 
you  remember  I  said  to  you — that  night — that 
artists  like  you  were  autocrats. 

Diaz.     I  remember,  but  I  must  confess  my 

Carlotta  [as  before,  stopping  his  mouth  again'\. 
It  is  I  wlio  had  better  confess.  I'm  incorrigible. 
Nine  years  ago — the  day  after  that  night — I 
didn't  trust  you.  I'd  no  faith.  And  now  I  find 
I've  learnt  nothing  and  I'm  at  it  again. 

Diaz  [low'\.    At  what? 


ACT  IV  127 

Carlotta  [still  between  humour  and  e7notion'\. 
Not  trusting  you.  You  ought  really  to  send  me 
to  a  hospital  for  incurables.  ...  I  put  the 
photograph  away — and  I  thought  I  was  putting 
the  original  away.  I  wanted  to  put  myself  away 
too  \_sob1 — only  the  drawer  was  too  small.  And 
then  when  you  told  me  not  to  go  to  the  concert 
I  thought,  "He's  afraid  of  me  becoming  one  of 
his — bad  habits,  and  he's  trying  to  break  himself." 
[  With  her  hand  she  again  stops  Diaz  from  speak' 
ing,'\  And  when  you  began  to  talk  about  my  next 
novel  I  thought,  "His  idea  is  to  find  me  a  little 
gentle  ladylike  occupation  so  that  the  days  won't 
be  too  long  for  me  and  I  shan't  worry  him."  And, 
and  [50?) ]  fourthly  and  lastly — when  you  rushed 
off  to  Lady  Steinberg's  it  seemed  as  if  there'd 
been  a  competition  between  your  career — -and 
your  Carlotta,  and  the  career  had  got  the  first 
prize.  I'd  been  backing  it  to  beat  the  field  for 
a  year  past,  and  yet  when  it  won  I  felt  quite — 
queer.  Really,  sometimes  I'm  just  as  irrational 
as  a  man.  Have  you  noticed  it.''  .  .  .  Well,  get 
your  muffler  and  run  off.  I'll  wait.  Darling,  all 
my  faith's  mysteriously  come  back.  [(Diaz  takes 
off  his  overcoat. '\    What  are  you  doing.? 

Diaz.     I'm  not  going. 

Carlotta.  But  you  must.  Be  serious,  my 
poor  boy.  This  isn't  a  play  night.  It's  a  work 
night. 

Diaz.     I'm  not  going.     And  if  all  the  future 


128  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  LOVE 

depended  on  it,  I'm  not  going.  [Pause.  He 
turns  suddenly  away  from  her.]  Carline,  you 
must  take  something.  You  must  drink  to  our  mar- 
riage. 

Carlotta.     Our  marriage? 

Diaz.  Till  to-night — I  could  not  suggest  it, 
could  I? 

Carlotta.  I  quite  see  that  we  can't  continue 
to  shock  London  indefinitely. 

Diaz  [at  the  table  where  the  tray  is'\.  There's 
only  one  glass. 

Carlotta.     Isn't  it  enough? 

Diaz  [springing  to  her  and  seizing  both  her 
hands].  You!  .  .  .  Do  you  imagine  that  I  ever 
forget  one  thing? 

Carlotta.     What? 

Diaz.  You  see  this  man  and  this  artist  stand- 
ing in  front  of  you.  .  .  .  You  created  him.  He's 
all  yours. 

Carlotta  [dropping  her  head  on  his  shoulder, 
•with  significance].  He  doesn't  know  his  strength. 
[Lightly.]  He's  hurting  my  wrists  dreadfully. 

CUETAIN. 


uv^uM-i  neaier  Hns  LiDrary 

PR  6003  B43sa  1920 


L  006  280  887  8 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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